


The Safest Place

by Naiesu



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Murder, Eventual Fluff, Friendship, Heart-to-Heart, M/M, Memories, Oblivious Sora, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Sora, Secrets, Slow Burn, Violence, but hes also really dumb and bad at dealing with it, he doesnt know that tho, hes straight up smitten in this fic, riku is a goof, superhuman strength sora, tbh im not sure where this takes place in the timeline, things are gettin juicy, toxic masculinity is a bitch and she is no friend of mine, wanting to get better and not knowing how
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-09-30 10:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naiesu/pseuds/Naiesu
Summary: Oh, grow up. You're both my best friends, right? Best friends are supposed to be honest with each other. I've become a part of your hearts, just as you’ve become a part of mine. My friends are my power.My friends are my powerMy friends are my powerM̴̨̡̢̤͖̞̖͎̹̹̲̂y̵̛̜̭͎͎̮̬̓͆̔̒̈́̕͝͝͠ ̸̳̪̤̜̤̄̈̐̒̈́͗f̶̳̦̻̦̠̰̥̃͋́̇̎̑̊͆̃̈́̈̓͋̓̍r̴̻͙͉̝͔̥̤̞̜̹̦̼̔̇̊͌͊̈́͂̚͝͝͝ͅi̸̢̨̘͖͓͔͉̖̲̳͈͈̙̘̥̔̒̇̚e̶͈͉̯̳̖̟̰͑̎͂͝ṋ̸̤̜͊̃̍̏͋͜͝d̵͙̲̟̗͕̲̝͇̯͓̲̄͑͌͋̔̄̏̈͂͋̉̌̇̕͠ͅs̸͎̲̜̱̱̥̦͌͂͋̓͒̐͜ ̸̢͕̟̩̮̤̝͓̫̣̣̃͗̑̄̔̽̏̐̂͊͜ą̵̪͇̙̥̭̼̘̯͉̳̼̙̞̿̋̿͆̆̓͜͠r̸̨̛̘̪̖̜̜̰̣͔̻̺͍̲̍̿̆̇̅̎͐͘̕͝e̵͖͓͙̬̰̔ͅ ̶̢̭͖̭̱̱͖̪̦̲̤̮̲̭͙̓̋̾̋̓̈́̈́̋͘̕m̵̮̲͙̅̋̔̊̎̉̓̍̚ŷ̴̢̼͈͉̖̳̝͕̹͓͈͔͛̎̆̾̑͋̓̃͊̚͝ ̵̡̟̜̹̻͓͊̉͘͜ͅp̵̛̤̜̗̦̊͗̅̓̽̅͘͠ͅo̶͓̭͌̿̿̐̋̓̑͘͝w̸̢̭͙̥̗͕͚̘͖̋͂͛̔̑̚͘͘e̶̝͙̺̟͈̪̥̭̖̱̦̯̒̑̈́̽̆͌̊͋̌̋̚r̵̡̧͉͈͎̞̘͇̭̰̍̊͊͊͂͋-After Sora's failed Mark of Mastery exam, he continues to train alongside Kairi and Lea in preparation for a second chance. However, Sora finds he's losing himself, caught up in a whirl of emotions and memories he doesn't understandand desperately doesn't want to.





	1. To Wander

_ Oh, grow up. You're both my best friends, right? Best friends are supposed to be honest with each other. I've become a part of your hearts, just as you’ve become a part of mine. My friends are my power. _

_ My friends are my power _

_ My friends are my power _

_ M̴̨̡̢̤͖̞̖͎̹̹̲̂y̵̛̜̭͎͎̮̬̓͆̔̒̈́̕͝͝͠ ̸̳̪̤̜̤̄̈̐̒̈́͗f̶̳̦̻̦̠̰̥̃͋́̇̎̑̊͆̃̈́̈̓͋̓̍r̴̻͙͉̝͔̥̤̞̜̹̦̼̔̇̊͌͊̈́͂̚͝͝͝ͅi̸̢̨̘͖͓͔͉̖̲̳͈͈̙̘̥̔̒̇̚e̶͈͉̯̳̖̟̰͑̎͂͝ṋ̸̤̜͊̃̍̏͋͜͝d̵͙̲̟̗͕̲̝͇̯͓̲̄͑͌͋̔̄̏̈͂͋̉̌̇̕͠ͅs̸͎̲̜̱̱̥̦͌͂͋̓͒̐͜ ̸̢͕̟̩̮̤̝͓̫̣̣̃͗̑̄̔̽̏̐̂͊͜ą̵̪͇̙̥̭̼̘̯͉̳̼̙̞̿̋̿͆̆̓͜͠r̸̨̛̘̪̖̜̜̰̣͔̻̺͍̲̍̿̆̇̅̎͐͘̕͝e̵͖͓͙̬̰̔ͅ ̶̢̭͖̭̱̱͖̪̦̲̤̮̲̭͙̓̋̾̋̓̈́̈́̋͘̕m̵̮̲͙̅̋̔̊̎̉̓̍̚ŷ̴̢̼͈͉̖̳̝͕̹͓͈͔͛̎̆̾̑͋̓̃͊̚͝ ̵̡̟̜̹̻͓͊̉͘͜ͅp̵̛̤̜̗̦̊͗̅̓̽̅͘͠ͅo̶͓̭͌̿̿̐̋̓̑͘͝w̸̢̭͙̥̗͕͚̘͖̋͂͛̔̑̚͘͘e̶̝͙̺̟͈̪̥̭̖̱̦̯̒̑̈́̽̆͌̊͋̌̋̚r̵̡̧͉͈͎̞̘͇̭̰̍̊͊͊͂͋ _

  
  


Sora jerks awake, blinking up at the ceiling of his room. His skin is tacky, covered in a cold sweat, muscles locked. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and it isn’t until a few seconds pass that he notices it.

He sits up, sighing, and runs his fingers up into his hair. His heart is pounding, pounding pounding, locked onto the fragments of his dream, but the more he tries to grasp it the faster it slips through his fingers.

The feelings linger, though. Fear, anger, disgust. Pain.

He makes a noise, small and strained, when his head pounds.

4:17, his alarm clock reads. Sora sighs, massaging his fingers into his temple.  _ It’s early. _

He doesn’t need to be up for another two hours, give or take, but the thought of laying down again makes his chest go tight.

Sora stares at the numbers on the clock, and thinks about how much training he needs. He sighs again.

Sora tosses the covers off his legs.

 

“So,” Riku says, sitting across from Sora. His plate sparkles before being filled with various foods. Sora spots all five food groups—at least he thinks so—and is briefly embarrassed by his own plate, “Kairi tells me you were up extra early today.”

He looks at Sora, gaze searching, and Sora is still as a wave of anxiety rolls over him.  _ How did she know that?  _ But then he remembers their rooms are next to each other, and he may or may not have made enough noise to wake her. He smiles.

“I can’t let you outdo me!” he says, pointing with his fork.

Riku raises his eyebrows, and Sora sees the start of a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “Oh? So I’ve finally found out how to get you out of bed before noon?”

“Hey! I haven’t slept in for a long time!”

“A-hyuck!” Sora looks over at the doorway when Goofy enters, smile huge on his face. Donald shoves past him to get to the table. “Sora used to beg us to let him sleep longer!”

Sora blushes, pouting at Goofy as he makes his way closer.  _ “Goofy,” _ he says.  _ He didn’t need to know that. _

“Why am I not surprised,” Riku says, laughing under his breath.

Sora huffs, loud, loud enough to cut off whatever Goofy starts to say. He cracks one of the crab legs on his plate, effectively getting Riku’s attention. “As if they ever let me.”

“Well—” Goofy starts.

“Of course we didn’t!” Donald says, eyes on his plate. He cuts into his fish with overly aggressive movements, and Sora stares at his plate, waiting for it to snap in half. “We had more important things to worry about!”

Sora looks at Riku and sees he’s smiling, conspiratorial. He tries to fight his own smile and doesn’t succeed.

“More important things,” Riku says. “Is that right, Sora?”

Sora nods sagely, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. He can feel Donald’s gaze boring into the side of his head. “That’s right, Riku.”

Riku looks at Donald, and when Sora peeks out at him he sees his poker face is impeccable.  _ Thank God it’s not being used on me. _ “Like what?”

Donald huffs. If he was agitated before it’s much worse now. Sora doesn’t know what’s got him all riled up, but if there’s anything Donald hates it’s having to explain something that he knows the other person already knows. “Like looking for the—!”

“Oh, I see,” Riku says, nodding like he understands. “You had to find the King as fast as possible so Daisy wouldn’t kill you for being gone too long.”

Donald immediately devolves into screaming, and Sora turns his face away, pushing his palm into his mouth like he can shove his laughter back down his throat. When he glances up at Riku he sees him staring undaunted at Donald and continuing to nod.

Riku looks back at him, throwing a secretive smile his way, and when Sora grins back he feels warmth bloom in his heart.

 

He’s perfect, Sora thinks, as he watches Riku.

He’s lounging on the front steps to the Mysterious Tower, clothes soaked through with sweat and body aching with bruises he can’t see but can definitely feel. His jacket has been cast aside, and even though it seems to be eternally twilight here, there’s no breeze to cool him down. Sora, instead, has been reduced to constantly casting blizzaga over his skin and hoping not to freeze himself.

Riku dances out of the way of Lea’s clumsy swing, and Sora winces when he spins and slams Lea in the ribs. It’s enough to throw Lea to the side and send his Keyblade skittering through the grass and over the edge of the island. Lea curses, going limp in the dirt and staring up at the sky.

“That’s enough for today,” Riku says, dropping his stance and straightening out.

“Yeah, no shit,” Lea grits out. Sora takes a swig of water, waiting for Riku to chew him out for the lack of respect, but it never comes. Riku just stares at him another second, and then turns his attention to Kairi.

Lea sits up, and after a gargantuan sigh he pushes himself to his feet. He limps on his way over to Sora, who holds up a spare bottle of water for him.

“What’s with Keyblade wielders?” he asks, half to himself and half to Sora. “They’re impossible to beat.”

Sora wants to say something, remind Axel— _ Lea— _ that Riku is a master now, but the compliment makes him feel strangely pleased. He scoots over and Lea picks up his jacket, tossing it at his face.

Sora pulls it into his lap, smiling at him. “Now you’re a Keyblade wielder, too,” he says. “Soon you’ll be unbeatable.”

“You think?” Lea asks, glancing at him.

Sora smiles. “No.”

Lea huffs, rolling his eyes. “Figures.”

Sora leans over his knees, watching Lea hold his hand out. He can feel the power, the pull. He knows what it feels like, how to do it, but the thought of conveying that seems impossible the longer he focuses on it.

“How many Keyblade wielders have you fought?”

The power around Lea’s palm falters as Sora breaks his concentration, and it takes a few moments for it to return. Lea is quiet, completely focused, and Sora waits.

When his Keyblade doesn’t come after another few seconds, Lea sighs, shaking his head. He leans on his knees, imitating Sora’s position.

“A few,” he says, watching Riku explain the basics to Kairi.

Sora looks at him for another few seconds. His curiosity is peaked. “How many is a few?”

“A few,” Lea repeats.

“Are you gonna tell me or not?” Sora asks, somewhat irritated but trying not to show it.

Lea looks over at him, and Sora holds his gaze. Lea stares at him, eyes flashing with an emotion Sora can’t put his finger on—like he sees something Sora doesn’t. It flickers, and then Lea glares at him.

“Why are you always pressing me for answers?” he snaps.

Sora blinks at him, shocked by the sudden switch, but before he can say anything Lea jerks his gaze away, facing forward. His shoulders are a straight line, tense where he’s hunched over. It’s a bad play at casual, like all he wants to do is curl in on himself but refuses to show Sora that weakness.

_ He’s suddenly got a heart again,  _ Sora thinks, looking forward again so Lea doesn’t start snapping at him for staring.  _ He’s getting used to his emotions again.  _ At least that’s what Sora was told.

They sit in silence, uncomfortable but unwilling to break it. Sora watches Riku glide out of the way of Kairi’s unsteady swing, body moving like water, breaking and flowing around the obstacle. He swings his Keyblade down and Kairi flinches, but he merely taps her on the shoulder with it. Lea mutters something about him being biased.

Riku says something to Kairi, stepping to her side and dismissing his Keyblade. She watches him, but turns forward again, focusing as Riku guides her feet to a better stance. He wraps his arms around her, folding her hands around the Keyblade and tilting her arms.

Sora watches her blush, sees the way she purses her lips and stares at the ground, and feels something hot and mean curl in his stomach. Jealousy, it feels like—he knows the emotion well—but it’s not right. It can’t be.  _ What would I be jealous of? _

He looks at the ground between his feet instead, letting his head hang while he pushes his bangs away from his forehead where they’re stuck to his skin. The longer he avoids them the more his focus is drawn back to Lea, who seems to be mulling over something he’s reluctant to share.

_ ‘Why are you always pressing me for answers?’ _

_ Always,  _ Sora thinks, replaying Lea’s words in his head.  _ Why always? _

But it feels right, and Sora can’t dispute it because he doesn’t know why.


	2. To Connect

Sora stares at Riku, blank, watching him pull garments out of a large briefcase. He turns them this way and that, touching the fabric with searching fingers. Sora feels a small burst of jealousy, but he shoves it down.

“What?” he asks, quiet.

Riku lays the outfit on his bed and peels his vest off. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Sora’s hesitation. “It shouldn’t be too long.”

Sora feels his expression screw up despite his attempt to keep it unfazed. “You’re going to the Realm of Darkness!”

“It’ll be quick,” he says. He unzips his shirt and Sora glances away, face going hot.  _ How is he so comfortable. _

“But—”

“Sora,” Riku says, cutting him off. When he glances at Riku he’s smiling, soft and placating. “It’ll be fine. Trust me—I know how to find my way around,” he says, laughing.

Sora watches him, remembers shutting a door, locking him away, forcing him to struggle to find the light again.  _ My fault,  _ he thinks, brief and fleeting, before tucking that away, too. 

 “Let me come with you!” he says, curling his fingers into fists and jerking his arms down. It feels childish, half bent over as he pleads with Riku.

Riku glances at him, obviously surprised by the sudden raised volume of Sora’s voice. He ducks his head into his new shirt. “Sora,” he says, again, half a sigh. Sora hears the way his voice goes weary as soon as he speaks, like he was waiting for Sora to say it but was hoping he wouldn’t. “You know you can’t.”

“Why?” he asks.

Riku toys with the hem of his shirt, rubbing the fabric in between his fingers.  _ “Because,” _ he says, pulling the jacket on, “Yen Sid said it’s just Mickey and I.”

“Since when have you listened to anyone?” Sora asks. He means for it to come out light, teasing, but it just sounds strained. Accusing, even.

Riku sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks a little dumb, Sora thinks, standing in the middle of his room with a brand new top over his worn out pants.

“Since I have to,” Riku says.

_ You don’t have to,  _ Sora thinks, looking away when Riku unbuckles his belt. Sora folds his arms over his chest.  _ You just want to. _

Sora puts his hands on his hips, leaning over to catch Riku’s eye. “Have to what?” he asks, and this time his voice sounds sufficiently teasing. “Be a goody two shoes?”

“One of us has to take this seriously,” Riku says. He shoots Sora a look that’s meant to be playful, but all Sora feels is the jab.

His smile wanes. He stands up straight again and shrugs. “Better you than me.”

Riku smiles at Sora, unfolding his pants and laying them out on the bed. “I feel the same.”

Sora looks away when Riku starts changing, rocking back and forth on his heels. He wants to fight more, to make Riku realize it would be beneficial for him to go, to explain that there’s no reason he  _ shouldn’t. _

“When are you leaving?” he asks.

Riku feeds his belt through his belt loops, and Sora deems it safe to look back at him. “As soon as Mickey’s ready.”

“Huh?!” Riku glances over at him at the sudden outburst, but doesn’t react otherwise. “Already?!”  _ I need more time. _

“Yes—”

“Don’t you need to, like, be briefed or something?”

Riku fixes his belt and turns back to Sora. “I  _ was  _ briefed. Where do you think I got the clothes?”

Sora feels dumb for not putting two and two together, but he ignores it.  _ I need more time,  _ he thinks.  _ I have to go with them.  _ “But—”

“I know,” Riku says, dropping his hand on Sora’s shoulder. “It’s a lot sooner than any of us were ready for. But the sooner we do it the better.”

“Why can’t you—”

_ “Riku!” _

The two of them look at the door, partially opened where Sora left it when he barged in. “Mickey,” Riku says, as though Sora doesn’t know his voice.

“Riku,” Sora starts, a last desperate attempt to get him to listen to  _ reason. _

Riku squeezes his shoulder, slipping past him. “I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone.”

Sora watches him leave, and doesn’t know how to tell him that he’s already noticed.

 

“So, Riku left, huh?” Kairi asks.

She knows—Sora knows she knows, which means she’s only saying as much to get him to talk about it. He’s being too open with his thoughts.

“Uh huh,” he says, sitting up and pushing his spoon into his ice cream. He’s stirred into a soft serve, lost in his own thoughts.

“Do you…” she trails off. When Sora looks up her expression is hesitant, “...wanna talk about it?”

“About what?”

She blinks, thrown, and Sora furrows his eyebrows. “Well—I thought—I guess—”

_ What’s got her in a tizzy?  _ he wonders, watching her trip over her own tongue.

Kairi shakes her head, blinking rapidly. She takes a moment to speak. “You just seem down, is all.”

Sora snorts. “Been stuck with Master Yen Sid for too long?”

Her expression sours, and he chuckles. “Worlds this, magic that—why can’t I just learn about the Keyblade?”

“Hey,” Sora says, waving his spoon at her. Ice cream drips from the end and splatters on the table, “all that stuff is really cool!”

“It’s cool in theory!” she says, wiping at the table with her napkin.

“How is going to different worlds and doing magic not the coolest thing you’ve ever heard of?!” He laughs as he says it, voice raising, and Kairi looks ready to match him.

“Cuz I’m not going to other worlds or doing magic! I’m just reading books about it!”

“Yuck.”

_ “Yeah,  _ yuck! Meanwhile everyone else here has been all willy-nilly—’Oh yeah, I’ve flown before! You haven’t?’. Like, that’s not a universal experience! Not to mention—!”

Sora leans his chin into his palm, trying not to smile too much, and completely forgets about Riku.

 

They each have an allotted space in the Mysterious Tower. A room for each of them with an ensuite bathroom, and various rooms for various purposes. A dining room, a kitchen—if they actually feel like making something themselves—a recreation room that none of them have used yet.

A lot of rooms that Yen Sid has created specifically for them, and yet Sora still finds himself encroaching on space that isn’t his.

Well, it’s not really encroaching if no one said he  _ couldn’t. _

Sora sits in the small storage room next to Yen Sid’s study, high at the top of the tower and far away from everyone else. At first he was drawn up by the strong sense of magic, the windows that opened onto the sky, the way the stagnant air seemed to turn into a soft breeze.

And that’s still part of it. However, the more time passed the more Sora only went up for the items inside.

It’s an oddly tidy little room, full of knick knacks that likely hold magic Sora can’t tap into. They’re definitely not his to fiddle with, but he gets carried away sometimes.

_ He hasn’t stopped me yet,  _ he thinks, amused with himself. He picks up a short stick and smiles, turning it back and forth in his hand.  _ It looks like a wand. _

It’s been years since he’s sat down and watched anything on TV, but Sora can still remember every show that featured witches and wizards.  _ I always wanted to be able to do magic. _

He waves the wand with a flourish, overly dramatic just for the fun of it, and the room heats up hot, hot, hot before one of the drapes covering a mirror catches fire.

_ “No, no, no, no, no,”  _ he mumbles, throwing the wand aside and casting blizzaga.

Ice coats the wall, and Sora runs his hands into his hair, chest seizing up. The drapery goes out with a short hiss, and water drips onto the ground. Sora stares. He can feel his magic slinking away, tamed and weak, and he blows a quick stream of air through his lips.

_ I’m never touching anything in here again,  _ he thinks. He wonders if he’s going to get in trouble.

_ Yes,  _ he thinks, and sighs. He slides down to the ground, looking at his reflection in the mirror.  _ It’s only a matter of time. _

The image ripples, and Sora is shocked for a moment before he remembers what they do. Showing facets of who he is and was and could be.

He’s sitting on the ground, and the light at the edges of his reflection rolls, making everything blur. His clothes are no longer black—are instead white, white enough that he starts to blend in with the mirror.

_ Power,  _ he thinks. A picture, a feeling, flashes in his mind, the  _ Keyblade, the real χ-Blade— _

Sora grunts, squeezing his eyes shut when his head pounds. His stomach flip-flops, and he curls into himself, feeling suddenly sick.

_ I’ll come back tomorrow,  _ he thinks. He pulls himself to his feet on a short end table, leaning into the wall when he legs wobble, unsteady.  _ To clean up. _

A partially charred sheet is in a pile on the floor, and Sora picks it up, tossing it over the mirror to cover his tracks. It’s soaking, and Sora pushes the singed parts behind a stack of books. He doubts it will work.

Yen Sid is going to kill him when he finds out, but when his head throbs again he decides the only thing he cares about is his bed.


	3. To Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a good new years!

Sora rolls, spinning into a crouch and whacking Lea on the back of his leg—not hard enough to do any real damage, but certainly enough to bruise. Lea curses, pinwheeling his arms as he falls back.

“Good,” Sora says. He’s panting as he stands back up, and he points his Keyblade at Lea’s neck to keep him from attacking again.

Lea smiles up at him, wry. Sora grabs his hand when he holds it up, thrusting him off the ground with enough strength to send him stumbling. “Geez!”

Sora laughs, watching him catch his balance before he leans over his knees again, trying to catch his breath. Part of his pants are smoking, and when he pats at it he sees the skin on the back of his hand is burnt, too.

“We have to get you used to fighting without magic,” he says, glancing over at Lea.

Lea scoffs, pushing his hair back from his face. He’s shiny with sweat, but he’s smiling. Sora counts that as a win.  _ Riku couldn’t do that. _

“As  _ if,”  _ Lea says. He dismisses his Keyblade with some difficulty, shaking it lightly when it takes a few seconds to completely disappear. “How else am I gonna beat you?”

“OK—first of all? You didn’t beat me,” Sora says, following Lea over to the stairs. Kairi holds out a water bottle for the both of them. “And second of all, you have a real weapon now.”

_ “‘A real weapon’?” _

“And third of all—”

“Now  _ hold on—” _

Sora holds up a finger when Lea tries to talk over him. “—if you’re gonna use magic, you can’t  _ just  _ use fire.”

“W— _ why?” _

Sora lets him splutter, focused entirely on drinking as much of his water as possible. Kairi leans against his leg—her unspoken way of acknowledging him while she talks to Goofy. Sora sighs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and resting his water bottle on her head.

“You remember how much you were sweating yesterday?”

Lea squints at him, lost. “Yeah. We were sparring.”

Kairi mutters something, swatting at Sora’s water bottle. He moves it to her shoulder just until she hisses. “And you remember how I  _ wasn’t  _ sweating.”

“Yeah, so what—”

“That could be you,” Sora says. “But all you wanna do is throw around fire when you could cool yourself off with blizzaga or aeroga or something.”

“No one’s told me about ‘something’,” Kairi says, cutting off Lea. “Is it hard to cast?”

Sora shoves her face away, laughing. “It’s the hardest one and you’re  _ not _ allowed to learn it.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I said so.”

She tilts her head back, staring up at him. “What gives you that power?”

“Soon-to-be-Keyblade-Master.”

She spins around on the step when Sora sticks his tongue out at her. “‘Soon-to-be’?” She laughs. “Then what happens if I become Keyblade Master before you?”

_ What happens?  _ he wonders.  _ What happens is that I know for sure I don’t deserve to be a Keyblade Master. If I started welding that long ago and both of you beat me—even though I tried  _ so hard—

He laughs. “Then I guess I’ll have to become a Master super fast just to make sure you’re not allowed to know it!”

“Hey!”

She starts laughing, and Lea butts in, saying something that Sora only half-hears. He laughs, good natured, but his chest hurts with the memories of his failures, and he doesn’t know if he wants to work hard enough to erase them or just ignore the hurt until he forgets again.

 

“Kairi,” Sora says, soft enough that it can be ignored as a trick of them mind if she wants.

She hums, focused as she finishes the nail polish on her pinky finger. A moment passes where she stares at it, turning it this way and that to inspect it, before blowing on it lightly.

They’re sitting on her bed, comfortably warm and lit only by the lamp at the side of her  bed. It casts just enough light to be unobtrusive, soft. It makes Sora tired.

“Do you know why Riku left?”

Kairi glances up at him, almost a hair too quick to be normal, but she doesn’t look off-put by his question. She sits up straight, thinking.

“I don’t,” she trails off, humming again. “I don’t think he did. Why?”

“Just,”  _ worried, scared, nervous,  _ angry, “curious, I guess.”

She nods, sifting through the bottles of nail polish at her side. She’s amassed them via a Moogle she’s made friends with.  _ Using our money,  _ Sora thinks wryly. He doesn’t really mind.

“It’s a pretty dangerous place to be,” she says. Her voice is softer. “I—” She breaks off, sighing. “I hope he’s OK.”

“I wish they had let me go,” Sora says. He wishes he could stop bringing it up, but it’s an open wound—unhealed until Riku gets back and he doesn’t have to think about it anymore.

Kairi picks up a deep red color, pressing it against the sun-tanned skin of Sora’s calf. She tosses it back into the pile, clicking her tongue. “It’s better that you didn’t, really,” she says.

Sora’s immediately on guard, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  _ Say it,  _ he thinks, almost cruel.  _ Just say it. _

 “I mean,” she shrugs, pressing a sunny yellow to his leg, “they’re both Masters, you know? They know what they’re doing.”

_ Again, again, again,  _ he thinks, holding his hand out to her when she reaches for it.  _ Rubbing it in my face. _

“This is a good color for you,” Kairi mumbles, half to herself. Sora’s barely listening, eyes locked on the steadiness of her hands and the cool feeling of nail polish touching the edges of his skin. Not seeing any of it.

He thinks about how many more places he’s been to, how many times he’s had to chase after Riku and clean up  _ his  _ messes—as much as he’s claimed the opposite.  _ One time,  _ he thinks.  _ One time I’ve needed to be saved, and now no one will let it go. _

_ But,  _ his mind whispers, a traitor unto itself,  _ I couldn’t have picked a worse reason to need it. _

“Sora?”

He looks up at Kairi, who meets his eye before focusing on painting his nails again. “Hmm?”

“Are you OK?” she asks, gentle.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding even though she isn’t looking. “Just tired.”

She nods, accepting it without an argument. It’s the whole truth, but it only feels like half of it. “I’m getting better,” she says, leaning back from Sora’s left hand.

He holds it up, examining her handiwork. It does look a lot better than the last time she did it. There’s not quite as much on the skin surrounding his nails.

“You can always peel it off,” she says, taking his right hand.

“You’re doing great, Kairi,” he says, laying his hand on his knee carefully. He’s learned—from too much trial and error—to be conscious of where he puts his hands and what he touches. Kairi gets mad and the color takes forever to come out of his clothes.

She smiles, tilting her head down to hide it with her hair. Sora smiles, then, too, and feels just a little bit lighter.

 

He thinks that night. He thinks a lot.

Why didn’t Riku tell anyone why he was going to the Realm of Darkness? Granted, Sora didn’t think to  _ ask  _ him—was too preoccupied with going along—but he could’ve said something.

Maybe that was the whole reason he wasn’t allowed to come. Maybe whatever Riku was doing was supposed to be kept from Sora because it could hurt him specifically? Maybe you really  _ had  _ to be a Master. Yen Sid had said something about Sora not obtaining the power to wake things? Were they waking a world? Maybe a  _ huge monster— _

_ No,  _ Sora thinks, crossing his arms behind his head and staring up at his ceiling. It’s dark, dark enough that he can see the soft glow of the constellations above his bed,  _ that wouldn’t make sense. What would we need a giant Heartless for? _

_ Maybe,  _ he thinks, and it’s that same mean, callous part of his mind,  _ I wasn’t allowed to go because I’d get in the way. _

And, as much as he wishes it wasn’t, it’s probably true. He wonders if they think of him like that because of how he acts, or maybe because it really was a  _ ‘Masters Only’  _ type mission. 

He wonders if things could’ve been different.

 

“Lea,” Sora says the next day when he’s knocked him on his back again.

Lea stops his grumbling and looks up at him, likely recognizing just how serious he sounds. He sits up. “What?”

Sora looks up at the stairs to the tower, but they’re empty. He’s not sure what time it is, but he thinks Kairi is probably in one of her lessons with Yen Sid. He doesn’t know where Donald and Goofy are, but it doesn’t matter quite as much. They don’t have as much sway over Sora as Kairi does.

He crouches in front of Lea, ignoring how much his knees protest. “Can you still use the Corridors of Darkness?” he asks, quiet. Just in case.

Lea furrows his eyebrows, glancing at the tower. “W—” He blinks at Sora, shaking his head as though he doesn’t know what exactly he wants to say. “Why?”

“Because,” Sora says, trailing off.

He wants to think up a quick lie, just something small, believable. But he can’t.

_ Lea is good,  _ he thinks, looking down at his hands. The yellow nail polish is already chipped on his thumb where Lea nicked him with his Keyblade.  _ He’s the most likely to help me out. _

“I want to go to the Realm of Darkness.”

Lea stares at him for a moment, clearly shocked, and then frowns. “No,” he says. It leaves not room for argument.

“No you can’t use them, or no you won’t take me?”

“No, I won’t take you,” Lea says, pushing himself to his feet.

Sora rockets up, but the difference in height is jarring and he no longer has the high ground. “Why?”

Lea shakes his head, scrubbing his hand through his hair as he stomps off toward the stairs. Sora has to jog to keep up with him.  _ “Because,”  _ he says, gritting the words out, “it’s not safe. Obviously.”

“But—”

“Not to mention, we both have hearts. Again—not safe.”

Sora stops, watching him walk.  _ There are other ways,  _ he thinks.  _ I don’t just have to rely on him.  _ He remembers piloting the Gummi Ship to the End of the World and wonders if it was actually destroyed.

“Ro— _ Sora,”  _ Lea calls.

When Sora looks up he sees Lea standing at the bottom step, looking back at him with a sad sort of hope. Pleading.

“If I don’t take you,” he says, pausing for a beat, “will you still try to go anyway?”

Sora stares at him. “Yes.”

Lea drops his head, eyes locked on his boots. He scrubs his hand through his hair again.  _ He’s always done that,  _ Sora thinks,  _ when he’s anxious. _

“Fine,” Lea says suddenly. Sora raises his eyebrows, smile creeping up on him.

_ “But,”  _ Lea says. His expression is thinly veiled anger masquerading as seriousness, “you’d better know what you’re doing.” He stares at Sora, waiting for some argument, but when it doesn’t come he only sighs. The anger drains away with it, leaving him looking thin.

“I’ll let you know when we’re leaving.”

 

Sora wants to bug Lea, find out when exactly they’re going, but Lea said  _ he  _ would tell  _ Sora.  _ Sora doesn’t want to push his luck, and leaves Lea to his own devices.

He finds his way back up to Yen Sid’s little side room when it’s dark enough. He doesn’t think he can sleep, and he doesn’t try to force it. They had ended their sparring session early—purely Sora’s fault—and he’s still got a bit too much energy. Energy that could be spent messing with objects he doesn’t own.

 Sora turns a small ball around in his hands, wondering what exactly is so special about it. Everything in the room seems to have some kind of magical signiture, but this is devoid of everything. For all intents and purposes it’s just a ball.

He almost drops it on the ground to see if it’s some kind of super bouncy ball when he touches a flattened portion of it. A triangle rolls up against it.

_ Outlook not so good _

Sora stares, deadpanning.  _ Is this a joke? _

The door creaks, and Sora jumps, nearly dropping the Magic 8 Ball. He swivels around, smiling big and nervous and  _ please don’t kill me I was just checking my fortune— _

No one’s there. The door is still closed tight where Sora left it, but he can hear padded footsteps on the stone in Yen Sid’s study. It’s somehow both terrifying and exciting—knowing he could get caught if he isn’t careful enough. He squats to the ground, hiding behind a stack of magical junk.

“You’re progressing quickly, Kairi,” Yen Sid says, drawing every word out until Sora’s certain all four take half an hour. “It may not be so long from now when you take your own Mark of Master exam.”

“Thank you, Master,” she says. Obedient to a fault. Sora rolls his eyes. “But I still have a long way to go.”

“Just as well,” he says. Sora hears him shuffling through papers, sliding things around his desk. “You’re dismissed for the night.”

Another second passes where Yen Sid sets his things down, but even though Sora’s listening for it, he doesn’t hear Kairi’s footsteps take her out of the room. Yen Sid stops moving when she doesn’t leave.

“Is there something I can do for you, Kairi? You need only say the word.”

“I—” she starts. Sora perks up immediately, knowing that tone of voice. “Why didn’t you let Sora go on the mission?”

He feels cold, but it’s washed away by a wave of shame, hot, hot, hot and staining his face.  _ I shouldn’t have said anything to her last night,  _ he thinks, looking down at the ground and hunching into himself.

Silence overtakes the room, and although Sora is mortified they’re even  _ talking  _ about this, he’s desperate to know the answer.

“Kairi,” Yen Sid says. His voice is gravely. “You, more than anyone else, should know the answer to that.”

“What do you—”

She cuts herself off, and Sora looks up at the door. It’s silent, uncomfortable and inhuman. Like they’re actively trying not to make sound.

Sora stands slowly, and knocks into one of the mirrors, catching the sheet in the button on his pants. He unhooks it, nervous of any little noise, but there’s no reaction from the two of them. He sneaks to the other side of the room and presses himself to the door.

The silence goes on for ages, and when Kairi finally takes a shaky breath, Sora almost jumps out of his skin.  _ “No,”  _ she whispers.

“I’m...afraid so,” Yen Sid says. “It’s for the best that he stayed here. Where we can watch over him.”

Sora presses himself closer to the door, mindful not to make noise.  _ What?  _ he thinks.  _ Say it! I need to know! If it’s about me you can’t keep it to yourselves! _

“I—” Kairi starts, once again. Sora waits for her to continue, but she seems to be trying to come to terms with something she can’t.

Yen Sid walks to the door, and Sora hears it creak as it’s opened again. “You should find your way to your room tonight. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

There’s another long stretch of quiet before Sora hears Kairi’s hesitant footsteps. “Of course,” she says, small.

Her footsteps recede, and Sora stays pressed up against the door until Yen Sid leaves. He’s not longer mortified—is instead irritated, worried. Why couldn’t they just  _ say it?  _ Why are they keeping it from him?

_ If there’s something wrong with me, I deserve to know. _

Sora sighs, waiting those extra few minutes just to make sure Yen Sid has retired for the night. He’ll have to come later than he thought if the two of them are still coming upstairs so late. He sighs again, scratching at his hairline. He needs to take a shower.

Sora stops when he turns around, seeing his reflection staring back at him. Darkness swirls around it, eyes gold, gold, gold enough to shine. It grins at him, mean.

_ How long has it been like that,  _ Sora wonders. He can feel his heart jumping in his chest, a quick tattoo.

He takes a step forward, and his reflection copies the movement. It settles something rabbity in Sora’s chest, and he walks up to it.

_ Is this what I looked like?  _ He touches the edge of the mirror, but besides that first unsettling smile his reflection doesn’t act on it’s own again.  _ It’s surprisingly human. _

_ But it’s still me,  _ he thinks.  _ This is what’s inside my heart.  _ He hates himself a little in that moment.

Sora picks up the sheet, and when he stands up again his reflection has its hands pressed to the glass.

He grips the sheet, terrified despite himself. He takes a step back.  _ It’s the magic—the magic and the darkness inside me, that’s it— _

Its lips move, saying something Sora doesn’t catch. Its expression goes livid and determined, and it presses its hands to the glass, cracking it.

Sora jerks back, bowling into a stack of magic items. It topples to the ground, and Sora looks up, dropping the sheet and scooting to the wall across the room.

There’s a different version of himself looking back at him when he glances at the mirror, but Sora doesn’t wait to find out if it’s just a reflection. He opens the door and slams it shut, running through Yen Sid’s office and doing the same to his door. It feels like overkill, but he summons his Keyblade and locks the room.

He runs.


	4. To Be Yourself

Sora’s exhausted the next morning, tired from avoiding sleep in favor of defending himself.  _ Just in case.  _ He doesn’t know how far his reflection could’ve gotten, but the glass had broken, and that was enough to convince him.

But nothing ever came, and Sora wasted a night’s worth of sleep defending his bed from an imaginary enemy.

“Hey, do you still—”

Sora looks up from his untouched breakfast and sees Lea bent over the table, plate held fast in his hands. He’s staring at Sora, expression a wince.

“What?” Sora asks. He clears his throat when it comes out rough.

Lea sits down across from him. “You look like shit.”

Sora scoffs, pushing his food around. “Thanks.”

“Did something happen?”

“No,” Sora says. Lea is staring at him strangely when he glances up at him, and he thinks he may have responded just a bit too fast.

He looks at him for another second, and nods, cutting into a stack of pancakes with his fork. “Do you still wanna go?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

Lea sighs, shaking his head—like he knew the answer was coming and still wasn’t ready to hear it. “OK.” He looks up at Sora, pointing his fork. “Eat.”

Sora looks away from him. “I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care. As soon as you get there you’re gonna get hungry, and we’re not coming back just so you can eat.”

“I will not,” Sora hisses, irritated despite himself. They’re both snapping at each other under their breath even though the dining room is empty.

“You will,” Lea whispers. “I know you, and the you that’s you when you’re tired is the worst of them all.”

Sora furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean you  _ ‘know me’?  _ We’ve barely known each other for  _ two months.” _

Lea clamps his jaw shut, and Sora stares at him, confused. “I know  _ enough of you,”  _ he clarifies.

“Oh,” Sora says. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed for not putting it together faster.

It’s awkward after that—silent for lack of any shared conversation topics. Sora feels like he’s in the calm before the storm, struggling to fill the space and wanting to badly because he has no idea what’s going to happen when they leave the tower. 

Sora pushes his plate away from himself, a little sick from stuffing himself. “I’m ready,” he says, quiet.

Lea is picking his teeth with his fingernail, waiting, but he stops when Sora speaks. “Not in that outfit, you’re not,” he says, standing up from the table.

Sora follows him to the door and out into the hallway. Lea walks like he knows where he’s going. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Lea glances back at him as they make their way up the stairs.  _ “What’s wrong  _ is that we’re going to a place where darkness is so potent that it can and  _ will  _ kill you, and your clothes can barely withstand space travel.”

_ Ah.  _ “Have you been there?”

Lea gets to the top of the stairs and starts off toward his own room. “No,” he says, hesitant. “But it’s easy enough to assume.”

“OK,” Sora says, standing by the door and watching Lea rummage around through his closet, “well I’ve been there. And it’s not so bad.”

Lea stops to turn and stare at him. He starts to say something, but thinks better of it, looking through his clothes again.

_ “Here  _ we go,” he says, pulling another Organization coat out of his closet. He tosses it at Sora. “Put that on.”

Sora holds it up to himself, looking down at all the extra fabric pooled at his feet. “I’m gonna trip on it!”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Lea crosses the room, taking the sides of the coat and pulling them taught around Sora’s waist. “I’d be worrying about whether or not this’ll even  _ fit  _ you.”

Sora rolls his eyes, looking at Lea’s tapered waist.  _ It’s a miracle he can find any clothes that fit him at all. _

“Let me go get some pins,” Lea says. He stops before he closes the door again. “Try that on and make sure it fits.”

Sora waits until he leaves to take his jacket off, huffing. “I’m not  _ that _ big.”

He leaves his shirt on and steps into the coat. He has to push the sleeves up to his elbows to be able to do anything at all, and he trips as soon as he tries to walk, but it fits him.

_ A bit snug,  _ he thinks, shuffling to get over to the mirror.  _ But it’s not so bad. _

It looks  _ very _ bad when he looks at himself, snug around the torso and loose everywhere else. He holds his arms out at his sides, swinging them and feeling like a child in his father’s clothes.

Lea bursts into laughter as soon as he steps into the room, and Sora spins, hands on his hips. “It’s not funny!” he yells.

“It is!” Lea says, but his voice is lost in laughter. Sora crosses his arms over his chest, but that just makes Lea laugh more.

“C’mon, Lea!”

“OK, OK,” he says, holding his hands up. He’s grinning when he crouches in front of Sora, soft breathing broken up by lingering snorts.

He rolls up the bottom and pins it up, sloppy but quick. It’s enough to hold it in place, and that’s enough. Sora doubts Lea has any tailoring abilities.

_ Who knows,  _ he thinks, holding his arm out for Lea to roll the sleeves up. They hang a little past his knuckles, but he assumes it’s meant to be like that.  _ I don’t know anything about him. _

Lea finishes his other arm and stands up, looking him over. His eyes catch on Sora’s, expression going taut, but he looks away before Sora can question it. “Try it out,” he says. His voice sounds just as strained.

Sora watches him for another second before nodding. He jumps and tries to widen his stance as he comes back down, but almost falls when the coat doesn’t give.

_ I hate it already,  _ he thinks, huffy. He bends to unzip it and pulls the zipper clear up to his waist, twisting around to see how it feels. After a set of jumping jacks to test it, he deems it worthy to withstand his somewhat questionable fighting style.

He faces the mirror again, adjusting the hood, but his reflection isn’t his own. It startles him for a moment before he sees it’s Roxas’ face.

Sora’s chest lurches, painful enough to make him wince, and he turns away from the mirror.

“Are you OK?” Axel says. He takes a step closer, hand hovering like he wants to help but doesn’t know how to.

Roxas looks up at him, pleading, begging,  _ help me, please, I want to get out of here. _

_ Who am I? _

He takes a stuttering breath when pain radiates out from his chest, reaching out to steady himself on Axel’s nightstand. His legs wobble, weak, and he’s afraid for a moment he may fall before Axel’s hands grip his upper arms, holding him in place.

“Hey!” Axel snaps. He shakes him lightly, but when Roxas doesn’t respond he squeezes his arms.

_ I can’t,  _ he thinks, trying to open his mouth anyway.  _ It hurts. _

He squeezes his eyes shut against the pain, focused on breathing. Axel says something—cursing, Roxas is sure—but he doesn’t hear any of it.

“Sora,  _ what is wrong!” _

Sora’s eyes jerk open, and the pain seems to recede almost immediately. He takes a shaky breath, listening to Lea’s yells to ground himself. His head throbs dully.

“Sorry,” Sora says, reaching up to touch Lea’s hands. “I’ve been,” he swallows, breathing out slowly, “getting migraines.”

Lea doesn’t move, and Sora’s too afraid to look up at him.  _ He’ll catch me,  _ he thinks, heart thumping in his chest. He doesn’t know what it’s from.  _ Out of everyone, he’d catch me. _

Lea straightens up, arms dropping to his sides. “Migraines,” he repeats. It’s not a question. Sora doesn’t have an answer anyway.

“Yeah,” Sora says, glancing up at him. To prove it.

Lea’s expression darkens, just enough to make his irritation known, but Sora thinks there’s something more there that he won’t let him see. Wanting Sora to admit he wasn’t entirely himself just so he has some fleeting hope to dig his fingers into.

He thinks he knows what Lea sees when he looks at him.

“I’m not used to the pain,” he says.

And that, just like every other time, isn’t a lie either.


	5. To Have a Heart to Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started writing this fic, I didn't think it would go anywhere, honestly. I thought I was maybe gonna write 1k words and let it die in my WIP folder as writing practice while I get back into shape. I've felt really iffy about this story and my ability to convey it as I struggle to get back into my writing groove, but you've all been so kind and patient that my confidence is returning! I just wanted to say thank you, especially to those of you who've left comments, and I hope you enjoy today's chapter!

There is definitely a difference when Sora steps out of the Corridor of Darkness. He feels the pressure, the weight of it like a thousand hands clinging to him but unable to penetrate the jacket. He’s glad Lea made him wear it.

Lea steps up behind him, boots crunching on the hard soil. He makes a sound, uncomfortable, and when Sora turns around he’s still got his hood up. “I don’t like this place.”

“Who would?” Sora asks. He starts off down the path they’re standing on, not bothering to look the other way. It feels right.

It only takes a few strides for Lea to catch up with him. He grabs Sora’s hood and tosses it over his head, and Sora has to stop to fight with it so it doesn’t cover his eyes. “Protect yourself!” he snaps.

“I am!” Sora says, copying his tone. “That’s what the coat’s for!”

“I don’t know if it was designed to handle this much darkness at once!”

Sora huffs, moving away from him and walking faster. It’s been a few years since he was last here, and he doubts he saw any large portion of it, so he doesn’t have anything to base their expedition on. It makes him a little uneasy—especially because he’s not with anyone he really  _ knows. _

_ I’m with Lea,  _ he thinks, glancing over at him. When he looks down and meets his eye Sora turns forward again.  _ He’s strong.  _ And, despite how much it’s driving Sora up the wall, he’s trying to take care of him.

_ No,  _ he thinks.  _ He’s just making sure I don’t hurt Roxas. _

Sora shoves his hands into the pockets on his coat, hunching into himself just a little. It’s the truth, he knows, and it makes it hurt all the worse that it’s not just something he’s thought into being.

 

They’ve been walking for a few hours when Lea finally loses his patience altogether. He started grumbling his way through the silence within the first half an hour and everything after that was  _ complaint, complaint, complaint. _

“Do you even know where you’re going?” he asks.

Sora pushes a dead bush out of the way, shimmying around it and trying to pretend he’s not irritated. “No, Lea. I just like wandering around here. It’s a great pastime.”

_ “OK.  _ Where are we going then?”

Sora waits for Lea to follow him before walking again. Truth be told, he has no idea where they’re going, and saying  _ ‘I’m following my heart’  _ would make him sound like a joke, but—

“I don’t know,” he says, ignoring the disbelieving sound Lea makes behind him. “My heart says this is the way I should go.”

“Your heart, huh,” Lea says. Sora’s surprised to hear he sounds open to the idea, and feels bad for thinking the worst of him on principle. “Can’t say I’ve ever had the experience.”

Sora stops, turning around to face him. “What do you mean?”

Lea looks bashful, suddenly, eyes darting every which way. He touches his chest lightly. “It just,” he makes a motion with his hand that Sora can’t even begin to understand, “doesn’t do that thing your guys’ do.”

“Who?”

“You and Riku and Kairi and—” Lea looks down at the ground, scuffing it with the toe of his shoe. “Some other people I knew,” he says. His voice comes out much quieter the second time.

Sora stares at him, working the information over in his head. He supposes they really do follow their hearts—Riku only more recently. He wonders if Roxas did the same thing, if that’s who Lea’s talking about.

Lea sighs, touching the back of his head through his hood. He seems to realize what he’s doing and drops it. “Listen, it’s not a big deal—”

“No, no, it is!” Sora steps in front of him, hands out to push Lea back. Lea tests his weight, just a little, and Sora slides an inch backward. “It is!”

Lea sighs again, backing up, and Sora looks down at his hands, trying to put his thoughts together. “You’ve followed your heart before, Lea, I know you have.”

“Sora—”

“You  _ have,” _ he insists. “Maybe not before, but think of all the things you did for Roxas.”

Lea’s expression goes taut, and Sora knows he’s tread on an exposed nerve. “Yeah,” Lea says. “And that turned out so well.”

It pains Sora, seeing the hurt reflected so plain on his face. “But you followed your heart,” he says, soft because he knows no matter what he says it won’t change the way Lea feels. “You don’t know what it feels like because—because you didn’t think you had a heart to feel it with.”

Lea stares at him, at a loss, and the longer they hold each other’s eyes the more Lea’s facade cracks at the edges. He sighs, and Sora hears the sound catch in his throat.

“You couldn’t have picked a worse place to do this,” he mumbles, dropping his eyes to the space between them.

Sora feels a bit bad for putting him on the spot, but Lea doesn’t seem angry about it. Defeated, maybe.  _ That’s OK,  _ he thinks.  _ He needs it. _

“Yeah, I’m good at that,” Sora says, chuckling. He crosses his arms behind his head and rocks from side to side.

Lea grabs his shoulders and spins him around, shoving him toward the path. “I don’t envy your friends.”

Sora stumbles into a dead tree and barely catches himself. “You’re my friend, Lea!” he says, turning back around to face him. “Aren’t you?”

Lea is taken off guard by the outburst, but he catches himself quick enough. He smiles. It’s shaky. “I guess I am.”

Sora grins at him, bounding through the brush to the path. He feels light, light, light—giddy with the newfound knowledge.  _ Another friend. _

And if Lea had tears in his eyes when Sora looked at him, he doesn’t mention it.

 

“You can talk to me, you know,” Sora says. He’s got his hands locked behind his head again. “Since we’re friends.”

Lea is quiet, and Sora doesn’t pester him. He’s already prodded enough for one day. He can tell that much.

“I’m...learning that.”

Sora nods, avoiding his eye. Lea seems dedicated to hiding his face behind his hood, and Sora knows he can’t just swing around and stick his fingers in his mouth. They’re friends, but not  _ that  _ good.

_ Friends, friends, friends.  _ He feels the word like a song in his heart, and he drops his arms, touching his chest lightly.

_ Roxas? _

It’s like a bubble pops, a burst of warmth filling him, making him feel too big for his skin. Sora smiles at the ground. It feels like a thanks.

_ You’re so happy,  _ he thinks, amazed.  _ I’m glad one of us can feel like this. _

“That’s a two way street, you know,” Lea says.

It jerks Sora out of his own mind, and he looks up at Lea. His eyes are pink around the edges. That happiness dulls a little.

When Sora doesn’t respond fast enough, he continues. “I’ve figured out that much.”

“What do you…” Sora lays his hand flat on his chest, furrowing his eyebrows. “You want  _ me  _ to talk?”

Lea pauses. “You’re not—”

He cuts himself off at the sound of heavy footsteps crunching through the silt, and Sora takes a step back, pressing his back against a thick pillar of rock. It casts a dull blue glow over him, shining in his peripheral. Lea steps up next to him.

They’re both a little worse for wear, clothes scuffed and bodies bruised. The thought of fighting something—again, already—makes Sora ache. The Heartless here are strong, and he’s only getting more exhausted.

The Heartless stop, shifting this way and that, and Sora summons his Keyblade, tucking it behind him so the flash doesn’t get him caught. They move, just enough to make a sound, and then stop completely. Sora holds his breath.

He has a split second where he sees it move above him, followed by a flash that’s so bright in the dim lighting he has to squeeze his eyes shut against it. He jerks his Keyblade up, bracing it with his hand, and something slams into it so hard it forces him to the ground.

The pressure stops, and Sora rolls back to a crouch, relying on Lea to cover him.

_ “Sora?!” _

Sora blinks rapidly, squinting but unable to see. “Riku?” he asks. He hates how hopeful his voice sounds.

Riku fists his hand in the front of Sora’s coat, jerking him to his feet.  _ “What are you doing here?” _ he hisses.

_ He’s angry,  _ Sora thinks, and a wave of uncertainty rolls over him. It’s quickly replaced with indignation. “We came to help!” he says, raising his voice as he struggles to get out of Riku’s grip.

His sight is slow to return, but when he opens his eyes enough he can see the black, black, black expression on Riku’s face.

Riku jostles him once, and Sora grabs his hand. He doesn’t know what for—to yank it off, to hold him closer, just to touch.

_ “You—” _ Riku grits out. He stops, and after a moment he sighs. “I should’ve known,” he says. It sounds like he’s given in already. “Making you wait patiently wasn’t gonna work.”

It’s a barbed statement, and Sora doesn’t think he meant it as anything more than a fact, but it still hurts. Just a little.  _ No surprise when Sora can’t follow simple orders.  _ He feels like a child.

“Riku,” Mickey starts. He sounds hesitant, and Sora knows that tone. That’s the  _ ‘they need to be sent home’  _ tone.

Riku lets go of Sora’s coat, smoothing it out where he wrinkled it in the front. “Are you hurt?”

Sora’s sight is blinking back in a hundred different colors, and everything looks like a dull blur, but it’s nothing terrible. “Nah,” he says, dismissing his Keyblade. “Just a little beat up.”

Riku huffs out a quiet laugh. “That’s a normal day for you.”

The joke makes Sora feel like he can breathe again. He knows he’s tugged just a little too much on the rope he’s been given, but Riku isn’t holding it against him.  _ He’s changed a lot,  _ he thinks.

“Maybe,” Sora says, coy. He runs his finger under his nose, grinning.

Riku reaches out, laying his palm on Sora’s cheek and dragging his thumb against the same place. “You’re getting dirt all over your face.”

Sora’s heart stutters in his chest, face going hot, hot, hot,  _ he’s going to feel it.  _ Riku isn’t paying attention when Sora really focuses on him, and it both settles and disappoints him. He’s not sure he knows why.

“If you’re coming, let’s go,” Riku says, turning away from him. “We’re getting close. Hopefully it won’t be much longer.”

Sora stares at him, not piecing any of it together. He nods after a moment and follows.

_ What was that about? _

 

Riku and Mickey hiss at each other for the first twenty minutes. Sora can see again—that same, strained grey blur occasionally cut through by pulsing purple and blue lights. It wears on him. He wants to be on the islands, bathing in the sunlight.

Riku spends the entire time placating Mickey, and Sora tries not to pay attention to it. He talks to Lea instead, bouncing around ideas as to what’s making everything glow. Sora says it’s the power of darkness, nothing more, nothing less. Lea says it’s phosphorescents. Sora thinks he remembers that from science class, but it’s been a long,  _ long  _ time since he was in school.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Lea asks.

“Hmm?” Sora turns away from the purple light he’s stuck his fingers into. Lea nods his head at Riku and Mickey. “Oh. Probably me.”

“Not even ‘us’?” Lea asks, eyes following Sora’s glowing hand. “That hurts, you know.”

“Shut up,” Sora laughs. He rubs his fingers together, wiping them on his coat. It leaves a smear down his front.

“I’m not cleaning that later.”

Sora sticks his tongue out. “OK,  _ Mom.” _

Lea bumps into him, knocking Sora off balance, and they both laugh again. “I don’t have any idea how to clean  _ phosphorescents  _ out of clothing.”

“Science can’t explain this!”

“Hey!” Riku calls. Sora stops and looks at him. “Keep up!”

Lea huffs, striding forward, and Sora jogs to catch up to them. Riku stares at the glow on Sora’s coat and touches it with the tips of his fingers. “Be careful,” he says, rubbing his fingers together just as Sora had done. He rubs it onto his own jacket. “This stuff isn’t natural.”

Sora turns to Lea, smug, and Lea rolls his eyes. “I told you. I  _ told you.” _

Lea pushes his head down, and Sora laughs, ducking out from under his hand.  _ “Alright.  _ I was wrong. Happy?”

“Yes,” Sora says, grinning.

Riku’s expression is carefully neutral, eyes watching Lea’s every move. Sora thinks he sees anger simmering underneath the mask, and it grounds him, makes him just a bit nervous. He doesn’t like Lea, Sora knows that. He wishes he would.

“We’re close,” Riku says, glancing at Sora again before facing forward.

And Sora knows it. He feels it, in his heart, that they’re almost there. It’s different now. Before it was just a gut feeling directing him, but now it feels like he’s physically being reeled in. It’s a bit hard to work around it, and Sora’s worried he’s going to have another episode.

The ground turns from silt to sand, and Sora feels a little more at home and a little more out of his element. He’s used to running in it, but it’s been a while.

Lea, meanwhile, is trudging next to him unsteadily. It makes Sora want to laugh, but his chest hurts so much he can barely form a smile. “Never been to the beach?”

“I have,” Lea says, skidding on a small hill. Sora steadies him. “Once.”

Sora hums, playing at thoughtful but trying to end their banter. He looks ahead, hears the ocean. Wonders when they got home.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it. He doesn’t feel like himself at all. “Riku,” he says, voice weak.

Riku stops, reaching out to steady him, and Sora leans into his touch. It’s warm, gentle.  _ Wrong. _ “What’s wrong?”

“I—” Sora takes a breath, but he still feels like he’s choking. Like his chest is jerking him in two ways at once. “It—”

_ “Riku!”  _ Mickey yells.

Sora looks up, listening to the waves go from calming to erratic—splashing. Like someone’s dashing through them.

He breathes out, calm, and stares.

_ “Aqua.” _


	6. To Hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the very sudden style change. The me from last summer physically manifested in my house and told me he'd kill me if I didn't start writing normally. I had no choice.
> 
> On a real note I woke up this morning to y'all freaking out about aqua and I couldn't have asked for anything better. I love the excitement!

Ventus wakes slowly, feeling his body being jerked back and forth. There are hands around him, fingers pressing tight, digging in. He’s being carried.

He turns his face into them when his chest lurches, straining against something he can’t see or feel.  _ Hurts,  _ he thinks belatedly.  _ Hurts. _

“Stay awake!”

The words are filtered, fuzzy around the edges, and Ventus grunts when his head pounds, pressing his forehead against warm fabric. He doesn’t know who’s carrying him, doesn’t care as long as they’re not actively trying to  _ kill  _ him, but they’re big and their arms ground him and Ventus wants to think it’s Terra.

_ “Sora!”  _ the man snaps, shaking him just enough to be annoying. “I said _stay_ _ awake!” _

_ Who’s Sora?  _ Ventus shifts, opening his eyes and pressing his hand to the man’s front to push himself away. It’s leather, thick and black and nothing like Terra’s clothes.

“Gotta get out of here, gotta get out of here, gotta get the  _ fuck  _ out of here,” the man mumbles. He sounds panicked.

“Lea?” Ventus asks, forgetting, just a second, about the pain. He’s quiet, afraid to be wrong just in case.

Lea glances down at him. He’s running, but he holds Ventus’ eye for a moment, searching. “God,” he huffs, glancing behind them. “Do you even remember any of that?”

_ Any of what?  _ he wants to ask, but he sifts through his memories just to make sure. He remembers staring, staring at something he didn’t understand but did—someone he didn’t know but  _ does. Aqua. _

And then agonizing pain, dropping to his knees because he didn’t have the strength to hold himself up anymore, feeling groggy and disoriented. He turns his hand over, and in the darkness he can almost fool himself into thinking it’s normal. But he sees the differences, sees skin a few shades too dark, calluses and old scars and yellow nail polish. Sees the brown hair waving back and forth in front of his vision as Lea runs.

He feels like himself but not. Like it’s his body but someone else’s. Like he’s been shoved beneath someone else’s skin and forgotten.

_ Who am I? _

He remembers the pain, feeling like he was being rent in two different directions and wanting to scream when it filled him up to the brim. It felt like—like—

Lea steps into a Corridor of Darkness, and Ventus seizes up, feeling the dark brushing against him, ready to slip under the skin, ready to reach down inside and corrupt. Again.

He sinks down in Lea’s grip, memories overlaying his vision, trying to drag him back to the past where he’s himself but not. Fighting with Vanitas over control of his heart, theirs, Vanitas’, not remembering who came first but hoping against hope that it was him.

Fighting with Terra, with Aqua, Master Eraqus promising to end it  _ forgive me...but you must exist no more. _

Ventus holds his head, losing himself, not knowing if it’s been like this forever or just now. Not knowing if “now” has been forever.

Vanitas following him like a stray dog, threatening everyone around them before jamming his fingers into every one of Ventus’ weak points and pulling until they tear,  _ he  _ tears. Promises that were never empty, only patient to be fulfilled.

Xehanort under the guise of a mentor beating him down and pulling him in two, discarding the useless bit,  _ me, I was the useless bit. _

And, Ventus realizes, he must’ve been the one that came first—remembering being young, young, too young and watching all his friends _ kill each other—  _

He feels hands scrabbling at him, dark, possessive, fingers like claws dragging him back under the tide of memories inside him,  _ mine, mine, mine— _

And, numb to the fact that it very well could be Vanitas, Ventus lets himself be overtaken. If not to forget the memories, then to forget the pain. Just for a moment.

 

He dreams.

Dreams in vivid shades, in nighttimes staring out at the stars, wondering about a past he can’t remember. In twilight, sunsets up high where he can’t be caught. Blurs of grey tones, surrounding him like a castle but feeling like a prison.

He dreams in black, and it suffocates him.

Sora is slow to wake, sleep pulling down on him like a weight. He tries to give in, more than happy to let himself be taken under again, but the feelings are potent—fear, longing,  _ fear, _ loneliness,  _ f ear,  _ heartbreak,  _ fear, fear, fe a r. _

No, he decides. He doesn’t want to sleep anymore.

But waking up seems like more trouble than it’s worth.

He hears yelling—no, not yelling,  _ screaming.  _ Angry, words tinted black and sharpened, meant to hurt. He doesn’t know whether or not he’s waking up or slipping back into himself.

_ “What is wrong with you?!” _

“Don’t blame me! The one man army over here was begging me to take him!”

“Then why didn’t you  _ say no.” _

“Oh, I’m sorry! I seem to remember you saying something along the lines of  _ ‘I knew making you wait patiently wasn’t going to work’!” _

“You  _ know  _ how impulsive he is! If you had actually sat and  _ talked  _ to him, we could’ve avoided—”

_ “You didn’t see the look on his face!” _

It’s Lea, Lea shouting at Riku. Sora squints, blinking slowly as his mind deposits him back inside his body. He feels odd, achy.  _ It must’ve been all the fighting. _

“He would’ve done it even if I hadn’t helped him,” Lea says. His voice sounds raw. Sora has no idea how long they’ve been going at it. “He  _ had _ to go,  _ had  _ to help Riku,” he sneers.  _ “Riku, Riku, Riku.  _ Out of every person he could’ve gotten attached to he chose  _ you.” _

It’s mortifying, sitting as a silent viewer and listening to them talk about him. He feels like he’s being cut open and put on display, embarrassed despite himself. Not knowing why he feels that way.

“What,” Riku says, a huff of a laugh chasing the word. Sora knows that sound, the way that smile shapes words, and feels young again, fourteen and afraid his best friend hates him so much he’d be willing to kill him. “Jealous that there’s not somebody else in there for  _ you?” _

The air in the room becomes unnaturally still, and Sora hurts, wants to intervene but doesn’t know the right time. The pain on Lea’s face is masked with an unsteady hatred, falling apart around the edges but unable to give up completely.

_ I’m here,  _ Sora thinks, desperate to convey it and not knowing how. It doesn’t feel like enough.

He shifts, feeling the residual ache in his chest like a physical presence over his lungs, and makes a soft noise of discomfort.

The two of them look at him immediately, and Riku’s expression clears, flipping from cruel to worried in a heartbeat. It throws Sora, and he watches Riku curiously, forgetting what he wanted to say to Lea. Riku stares back at him. He wishes he knew what he was thinking about.

Riku tilts his head down, pinching the bridge of his nose, and sighs. He shakes his head, and when he looks back at Sora he’s smiling. It’s small, unsettled but thankful. “You had me worried there for a second,” he says. His tone is softer, more careful, and that throws Sora, too.

He thinks maybe,  _ dangerously,  _ that this is what being important to someone feels like.

Riku’s eyes are just a tad shiny, expression gentle, if a little tight at the edges. He looks at Sora like he means something, and Sora blanks.

“Y-yeah,” he says, a bit later than would be normal. He’s losing himself in the teal of Riku’s eyes, drinking in the emotion he finds there. It fills him up to the brim, swelling until he thinks he may choke on it. He’s not sure it would be such a bad way to go. “Me, too.”

Riku’s smile changes, amused, and Sora flushes when he realizes he’s not making any sense. “Good to see you still have some sense of self-preservation,” he teases.

_ So mean,  _ he thinks, pulling the blankets up to his nose.

He doesn’t think he notices when Lea leaves the room.

 

“Yeah,” Riku says, arm slung around Sora to help him keep his balance. “Apparently Lea spoke to Yen Sid when you guys got back.”

Sora ignores Riku’s devolving into grumbles, focusing on walking. His body feels weak, overworked, and his head pounds the longer he stays upright. He’s never felt this way before, and it bothers him not having any experience. He’s wading in the dark and hoping the waves don’t drag him out to sea before he reaches the shore.

“I don’t even remember getting back,” he says.

Everything’s a bit fuzzy after that first lurch his chest gave, but Sora sorts through his memories anyway, trying to find an answer. None of it makes sense. He remembers feelings, the pain, and then it all blurs together.

_ Did I pass out?  _ he wonders, taking the steps back up to his room slowly. It drains him more and more with every footstep.  _ It felt like a dream. _

But if he digs deep enough, tries hard enough, he swears he can catch his fingers on the remnants of a memory, an idea, a secret not meant for his eyes. It’s writhing deep beneath the surface, locked away. Reaching out to him.

Riku is quiet beside him, eyes far away. “I turned around,” he starts, soft, “and you weren’t there.”

“Huh?” Sora tilts his head, trying to get a better look at Riku’s expression.

Riku steadies him when he almost trips.  _ “Careful,”  _ he admonishes. 

“Sorry,” Sora grumbles, looking away. He’s embarrassed—by himself, by the tenderness Riku is offering him. It’s weird and Sora can’t focus.

Riku smiles, huffing a quiet laugh like he knows some secret Sora isn’t privy to. More likely is that he’s laughing at Sora.  _ Wouldn’t surprise me. _

“Master Aqua wasn’t herself,” Riku says, staring up the stairs. “I guess. I don’t know what she was like, but Mickey told me about her when we were bringing her back.”

_ Aqua,  _ Sora thinks. That, too, feels like a memory. It feels like common knowledge. Something he should know but didn’t until yesterday.  _ I wonder if she’s OK. _

“What does that have to do with me?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows when he looks back at Riku.

Riku chuckles, looking at him, and Sora faces forward.  _ Why is he so close? _ He hopes his face isn’t red.

“I was getting to it,” he says. He pauses again, and the pleasant smile on his face fades. “I turned around to make sure you were ready to fight,” he says. “But you were on the ground. I don’t know when you fell but you were holding your head and muttering something.”

Sora clenches his jaw, unsettled and a little bit afraid. The act of losing those moments, of doing something he wasn’t conscious of that everyone else has a recollection of, is nerve-wracking.

“What was I saying?” Sora asks. He’s scared to know the answer.

“I don’t know,’ Riku says, shrugging. It jostles Sora a little, but he doesn’t think he minds. “There was too much noise.”

“Oh.” He’s not sure if he’s glad or disappointed.

They walk in silence for another few minutes, trudging up to the floor with their bedrooms. The hallway is empty and all the doors are closed besides Sora’s. Kairi is training with Merlin, he knows, but he wonders where Lea went.

_ Hopefully along with her,  _ Sora thinks, a little amused.  _ He needs it. _

“Is she here?” he asks, glancing at Riku.

He hums, raising his eyebrows. “Who?”

“Master Aqua.”

Riku’s expression flattens, worry pulling tight at his eyes. He stops in front of the room nearest to the stairs, and Sora doesn’t have to look to know there’s darkness inside. It emanates from the room, slipping under the door. Sora feels it like a whisper at the back of his mind and shivers.

“Are we allowed to go in?”

“Figured you’d ask,” Riku says.

He waves his hand, and a barrier shines over the door before melting away. The darkness disappears immediately, and Sora feels a bit dumb for thinking it was her. He’s glad he didn’t say anything.

Riku opens the door, quiet, and swings it open.

There’s another barrier around the bed, but this one is warm, kind. Light. He wonders who put it up.  _ Probably Yen Sid.  _ The barrier shimmers when they get closer, sparkling, and Sora wants to reach out and touch it.  _ I could never do something like this.  _ He doesn’t know why.

Aqua is laying on the bed, tattered clothes still hugging her closely, like they’ve held on long enough that they can’t let go. She’s covered by a white sheet, and the contrast makes the dirt on her cheeks and bruises under her eyes stand out stark. She looks thin. Sunken.

_ She’ll be OK,  _ he thinks, focused on the rise and fall of her chest. He’s worried, but he knows it’s true.  _ She’s strong. _

Sora doesn’t know what to say, and Riku doesn’t seem predisposed to strike up conversation.  _ It’d be unlike him if he did. _

“We should go,” Riku says, squeezing his fingers where they lie on Sora’s side.

It’s like a brand on Sora’s waist, clear through his clothes and burning him hot, hot, hot. It makes his skin tingle, touch both soothing the fire and fanning the flames. He locks his eyes on Aqua.  _ Am I sick? _

“Where?” he asks instead, pretending nothing happened.

Riku sighs, and it takes a moment for them both to meet eyes.

“Yen Sid wants to talk to you.”


	7. To Fight

“Why did you follow King Mickey and Riku.”

Sora wants to squirm, feels the weight of his question bearing down on him. He’s still in his pajamas, settled uncomfortably in a chair on the other side of Yen Sid’s desk, and it feels that much invasive because of it. There’s no standing at attention, no look of readiness about him. Sora chased down his best friend when he wasn’t meant to, and falling apart is just another slap in the face. Another thing to prove to him that he was wrong.

He looks down at his hands, knotted in his lap. “I wanted to help,” he says, weak. A pretty lie.

“You had your orders,” Yen Sid says. His hands are folded on the desk, and his expression is the same as every other time they speak. Blank. “You were to stay and train.”

_ You never said I couldn’t go along. _

Sora nods, eyes averted. He hates the feeling, hates being coddled and hates the reprimands that come when he tries to do things himself, to follow his heart. Hates that it’s considered acting out.

“Do you wish to stay as you are, and avoid retaking the exam?”

He jerks his head up, eyes wide.  _ He wouldn’t, right? He wouldn’t punish me like that. _

“No,” he says, shaking his head.

Yen Sid breathes in deep, tilting his head up just a fraction so it gives Sora the illusion that he’s looking down his nose. He feels insignificant, small.

“You must follow your instructions,” Yen Sid says, “should you wish to gain the skill you seem so desperate to possess.”

Sora drops his eyes back to his hands, squeezing them together in a mock reflection of the tightening in his chest. Digs his fingers into the soft webbing between his knuckles. He nods again, feeling his eyes prickle with heat, clenches his teeth to stop his lip from quivering.

They sit in silence for a moment, Yen Sid waiting for a response and Sora unwilling to give it. He knows Yen Sid is sick of his impulses, his ease with tossing commands out the window.  _ Give me real orders,  _ he thinks, mean.  _ I dare you. _

“We will discuss this further at a later date,” Yen Sid says. “You’re dismissed.”

Sora nods, standing up. He should wait for Riku to help him, but indignation seeps into his bones and leaves him numb, unable to feel the ache.

“Sora.”

Sora stops, hand on the knob, and stares at the door. He could leave. He could pretend he didn’t hear and go back to his room, to the dining room.  _ It would feel so good,  _ he thinks.

But he doesn’t. He looks back at Yen Sid, meeting his eye through the hair hanging low over his vision. “Yes, Master?”

Yen Sid holds his gaze, looking at him like he sees something, like Sora is a puzzle he can’t quite figure out.

“Focus on your training,” he says. “Riku is more than capable of taking care of himself.”

_ ‘He doesn’t need your help’,  _ Sora hears.

He thinks of Riku falling to the darkness, nearly being killed by his other half, by  _ him,  _ of being dragged through the Realm of Darkness by Sora because he thought Sora able to fend for himself. He thinks Yen Sid doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Sora smiles, trying for something placating.

“OK.”

 

Sora gets all the way down to the dining room before he has to sit down again. He knows he’s covered in bruises and half-healed cuts, had seem them when he was showering earlier, but he has no idea if that’s the real cause of the lingering pain.

He fiddles with the food on his plate, pushing around what little he had asked for. His stomach rumbles like he’s hungry, but the thought of eating makes him nauseas. There’s an emotion flitting just beneath his skin that he can’t put a name to, and he ignores it, trying to force it away.

He sits by himself for a long time. Riku is no doubt scouring the tower for him.  _ ‘I’ll be back when you’re done’, _ he had said. Sora feels like he ditched him, but decides he doesn’t care. That much.

It’s quiet. He doesn’t know where everybody is. Training, most likely. Aqua is still up in her room, sleeping his assumes. He had felt the barrier when he passed.

It leaves Sora alone with his thoughts. He hates it normally because of the stillness, the way it bores him, but he would do anything for a distraction. He hates it because he sinks too deep inside himself. He’s afraid one day he might not be able to find his way back out.

And what are they even training for? To beat Xehanort? It seems futile after beating back different halves of him. If no one else could kill him, if he’d been around since Yen Sid’s times, if even someone as strong as  _ Aqua  _ couldn’t do it, then what chance did any of them have?

Lea, who had at one point worked for him? Or Riku or Kairi, both of which have only had a short window of time with real training?

_ I beat Ansem,  _ he thinks, shoving his hand up into his hair and mashing his food in between the tines of his fork.  _ Just me Donald and Goofy.  _ And that only took him a few months of fighting to be able to do.

That and more. It only took him and Riku to beat Xemnas. Xehanort shouldn’t be any problem with all of them together.

_ He’s stronger than you think.  _ It’s hard to convince himself of that.

Sora sits up when he hears footsteps, looking to the doorway. They drag on the ground, uneven like limping, sporadic. It sounds like they’re tripping all over the place.

_ Is it Aqua?  _ he thinks, curious. Happy, excited not to be alone anymore. Wanting to get to know her.

A hand grips the doorframe, fingers thin but strong, before a face peeks around the corner. It’s definitely Aqua, hair unkempt and blue, blue, blue. “Ventus?” she says, a whisper. Looking at Sora but not really seeing him.

He grins, pushing himself to his feet. “Aqua!”

It takes him a moment to realize what he’s says, and Sora smiles, sheepish. “Master Aqua,” he corrects.  _ Always forget. _

Aqua stares at him, stares until her vision really, truly focuses on  _ him.  _ Her expression contorts—surprised, worried, angry,  _ livid.  _ Her fingers tighten on the wood of the doorframe, and Sora winces when she summons her Keyblade, unprepared.

_ “You,”  _ she says, voice shaped by gritted teeth.

“What?” he asks, shocked. The eagerness evaporates, leaving a cold kind of emptiness in its wake.

“You,” she repeats, stepping toward him. Her footsteps are suddenly very sure, “should’ve died a  _ long time ago.” _

The cold, the emptiness inside him, fills, fills hot and bubbling. He doesn’t know why,  _ why am I so angry,  _ but it doesn’t matter. Unimportant. He glares, smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. It’s unlike them and it feels  _ so good. _

Sora summons his Keyblade just as Aqua rushes him, slamming her Keyblade down on his. It knocks him back, and he braces himself, shoving chairs aside. He leans forward when Aqua pushes her weight at him, feeling her sudden strength echo in him.

He’s afraid for a moment she may overpower him, notices the way his barefoot feed drag against the hard wood when she bears down on him, but it wanes. Sora grins at her, excited, besides himself with a need to  _ win, to beat her, let me prove myself just this once— _

He waits, listening to the scratch of metal against metal, and when she wavers that first time he  _ swings. _

Aqua grunts when she hits the ground. She reaches up, bracing her weight on a chair, and Sora watches her pant, struggling to regain herself.

“You look like shit,” he says.

She looks up at him, and all Sora sees is hate.

It pangs in his chest, hitting some deep seated weakness, and Sora hesitates.

_ Is this what Riku felt like?  _ he wonders. He remembers what that was like, looking into his eyes and seeing nothing but disgust, hatred, what it was like to be treated that way. Sees himself in Aqua.

Sora drops his Keyblade, barely hearing the loud clatter of it against the ground. The anger drains, leaves him adrift, head spinning and hands shaking. He backs into the wall, staring at Aqua. Wonders where the feeling came from.

_ Who am I? _

Aqua stands slowly, stalking toward him. Her fingers clench the handle of her Keyblade, and Sora’s disappears from the floor in a wisp of darkness.

_ Maybe,  _ he thinks, arms tight over his chest.

She closes in on him, readying herself. He sees the determination in her eyes.

_ Maybe she should. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to plug myself in such a random chapter of this fic, BUT thats exactly what im gonna do. Hit me up on twitter at naiesu_s and/or tumblr at naiesu if youve got something you wanna say or ask me about this fic, or to hit me with a writing request if you wanna see something different. No pressure, but figured id give the option just in case!


	8. To Hear the Truth

“Aqua. I expected better of you.”

Sora stares down at his hands, letting the words flit in and out of his mind without really hearing any of it. He’s back in Yen Sid’s office, in the same chair, in the same position.  _ So much for a later date. _

Aqua is standing far to his left, and when Sora glances over he sees her ball her hands into fists. She’s barely acknowledged his presence except to glare at him and talk about him like he’s not in the room.

Riku is at his back, agitated. Both with Aqua and him. Sora for running, for getting into a fight, and Aqua for starting it.

“Master, you don’t understand,” Aqua says. Her voice is set, unwavering. “It’s not safe for anyone in the tower if this creature stays with us.”

Riku’s presence behind him becomes stifling, and Sora feels the sudden burst of power licking at the back of his neck. He doesn’t know if Riku means to do it or not, but Aqua looks over at him sharply, catching him.

“He’s not a  _ ‘creature’,”  _ Riku says.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Riku on this matter,” Yen Sid says. “Sora is no less human than you or I.”

She looks stumped for a moment, as though she had expected the opposite. It irritates Sora, that she’s so sure of herself, that she had the nerve to attack him at all.

“Maybe not on the outside,” she says. “But on the inside? He has the heart of a monster. I encountered the same darkness in a boy named Vanitas—they look,” she glances over at Sora, but the anger has been briefly replaced by something unsettled, “surprisingly similar.”

_ I’m not a monster,  _ Sora thinks, angry and upset.  _ I’m not. _

“And you think these two things might be connected?” Yen Sid asks. “Sora and this boy—Vanitas?”

“Master—” Riku starts.

Yen Sid holds up a hand, and he settles, quieting. Sora can feel the anxiety, the unbound energy he wants to let out.

“Yes,” Aqua says.

Yen Sid nods once, thinking it over, and Sora watches him. Nervous. He doesn’t know why, has never been in this position, but he can’t help but be just a bit scared.  _ He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me,  _ he thinks.  _ Right? _

“Have you any proof?” Yen Sid asks.

“Proof?” Aqua repeats, thrown.

“In defense of your accusation. That Vanitas and Sora are the same person.”

Sora looks at her, waiting, watching her eyes dart to the ground and her jaw go tense. She looks at him suddenly, and Sora feels pinned by her gaze, the flecks of gold in it.

“Summon your Keyblade,” she says.

It’s command that leaves no room for argument, and Sora still finds himself wanting to disobey. She has no authority over him.

“Sora,” Yen Sid says.

_ They can’t tell me what to do,  _ he thinks, gritting his teeth and holding Aqua’s eye. She glares, and he feels himself doing it back.  _ Just because they’re Masters doesn’t mean they can boss me around all the time. _

“Hey,” Riku says, soft, leaning into his line of vision just enough to get his attention. His expression has confusion written all over it, furrowed brows and frown conveying every word he doesn’t say.  _ What’s gotten into you? _

Sora looks away from him, holding his hand out and summoning his Keyblade. It flashes bright, bright, bright in the dim room, and the sudden weight dropping into his hand makes his arm sag. It’s beautiful, blue and white metal intertwining like sinew.

“There,” he says, looking at her.

Aqua’s expression twists up, and Sora thinks he sees some of the same darkness in her. “The other one,” she says. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

And he does. Vaguely. He hadn’t gotten a good look at it, but he remembers black and red metal twisting over each other in crosses, the blue eyes at both ends. He has no idea how to summon it again.

“Sora,” Yen Sid says, drawing his attention away from her. He dismisses his Keyblade again. “Is this true? Did you use another Keyblade.”

Sora looks down, feeling their eyes like fingers scratching at his skin, looking for an opening, the first sign of wavering. He feels like he’s having an intervention for something he didn’t do.

“Yes,” he says. He sits up when Yen Sid’s expression changes. “But I don’t know how I did it,” he says. It sounds just a little desperate, a plea he doesn’t mean to give until he’s giving it. “It just…” He trails off, turning his palms over like looking at them will give him the answer. “Was there.”

His voice is quiet, unsure, and he hates it.  _ I never asked for this,  _ he thinks, small and secretive. It hurts—the honesty of admitting it to himself.  _ I just want to be normal. _

Yen Sid sighs, closing his eyes. He keeps them like that for a long time, letting the room steep in silence. No one makes any move to break it.

“I had worried about this,” he says, looking at Sora. “My intention was to tell you on your own, but I was meant to have a lesson with Lea. Instead, it seems as though we must have this conversation now.”

“There is something special about your heart, Sora,” he says.

_ Special.  _ Sora sits up straighter, hands squeezing his knees as he listens. “What do you mean?”

“You have the unique ability to accept other hearts into your own without destroying them. This is both a very useful skill,” Yen Sid says, “and a terrible burden.”

_ Roxas,  _ he thinks, touching his chest lightly with the tips of his fingers. Sora had shared his heart, and Roxas had shared his memories in return.  _ That must be the burden part. _

“Your heart is a home to those seeking asylum, whether that be for a lifetime,” he looks at Sora meaningfully, “or only a short moment.”

_ Does he mean Kairi?  _ Sora turns the idea over in his head, oddly at ease with this new hotel-like aspect of his heart.

“So what’s so bad about that?” Sora asks. “It’s just Roxas, and I already share his memories. That can barely be considered a burden. I’m glad I didn’t just erase them.”

And it’s true, Sora knows, touching his chest again. They had hurt him, sure, but he would rather carry them with him for the rest of his life than let them get swept away.

“There’s plenty of room in my heart,” he says. Maybe a little cocky.

Yen Sid holds his gaze while he thinks. “Unfortunately, it seems Roxas is not the only heart that has joined with your own.”

Sora furrows his eyebrows, at a loss. He hasn’t interacted with anyone that’s lost their heart. Not that he knows of. And he would notice if someone else’s heart was inside him, right?

“It seems that,” Yen Sid says, slow, “when you were a child, you happened to join your heart with another.”

“Ventus,” Aqua says. She watches Yen Sid like she’s waiting to be proven wrong, like she wouldn’t be able to handle it if she was.

He nods once. “It is safe for us to assume that Ventus’ heart is still tucked away deep within Sora’s.”

_ But,  _ he thinks, watching Yen Sid closely. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“However, there is also a great deal of darkness within you,” he says, looking at Sora.

“Darkness?” he echoes. It feels right and he hates it.

“Again, I had wished to speak with you under less strenuous circumstances, but it seems we’re running out of time.”

“We—what do you mean  _ ‘running out of’—what—” _

Riku reaches down, squeezing his shoulder, and Sora quiets.

Yen Sid goes on as though the interruption hadn’t happened at all. “Whether it is the darkness inside you growing on its own, or the work of this ‘Vanitas’, it is becoming stronger. If what Lea told me is true, it is likely that the darkness is not simply affecting you, Sora, but is affecting those within your heart as well. It could be resulting in these episodes I’ve been made aware of.”

He gives Sora a searching look— _ ’why didn’t you tell me about this yourself’.  _ Sora focuses on his hands instead, picking at a hangnail on his ring finger just to have something to do.

“Aqua,” Yen Sid says. “What happened in the dining room?”

_ We’ve been over this,  _ Sora thinks, angry despite himself. He doesn’t want to keep talking about it. It would be bad enough going over it with Yen Sid on his own, but with Aqua recounting the story and Riku listening it becomes a punishment.

“I,” she starts, swallowing, “I thought I saw him.”

“Vanitas,” Yen Sid clarifies.

“Yes.” She nods. “I drew my Keyblade, and he drew his. The darkness in the room was stifling, but he didn’t seem affected by it, or like he knew it was even there.

“I swung at him but he blocked, and when I looked up he was grinning at me.” She looks at Sora. “Like he was having fun.”

Sora looks away.

“And his eyes,” she says, soft, disturbed. It makes Sora’s skin crawl.

Aqua shakes her head, as though ridding herself of the memory of it. “But I was still weak from...everything, and he knocked me back.”

The way she says it, like Sora wouldn’t have been able to get that one hit if she had been at full health, makes hate bubble in his gut. He grits his teeth against it, but it only burns hotter.  _ I could’ve done it. _

“It didn’t look anything like that when I showed up,” Riku says, dark.

Aqua faces him, and Sora can see her patience with him wearing thin. “Maybe you should’ve shown up earlier, then.”

The way she says it is admonishing, a mother disciplining a child, and Riku prickles. A cruel sort of glee crests inside him, and Sora glances away, fitting his palm over his mouth to hide his smile.  _ Serves him right. _

Yen Sid motions to Aqua. “Continue.”

She nods.  _ Obedient, obedient, obedient. Like a dog.  _ “All of a sudden he dropped his Keyblade and backed into the wall.”

“And you tried to kill him,” Riku says.

She sighs, irritated, and nods slowly. “I did.”

“You mentioned his Keyblade,” Yen Sid says.

She nods again. “It,” she motions loosely to Sora, “wasn’t the one he summoned.”

“But someone else’s.”

“Yes.”

Yen Sid hums. “Go on.”

“Then—”

“—I showed up,” Riku cuts her off. Sora drops his hands into his lap, looking back at him, but Riku is staring straight at Yen Sid, ignoring the look Aqua throws his way. “And—”

-

_ Sora covers his face when Aqua swings at him, jumping when he hears the clang of metal against metal in his ear. She hisses, and the sound is followed by the clatter of her Keyblade on the floor. _

_ He peeks out at her, dropping his hands slowly, and sees her staring at the doorway, hands clenching air. Her Keyblade is on the floor under Riku’s. _

_ Riku stares back at her, shocked, shocked and nothing else. It’s not an expression Sora’s ever seen on his face. He’s convinced himself of Aqua’s goodness in the wake of her reputation, and Sora can see it slapping him in the face. _

_ “What are you doing?” she hisses. _

_ “What are  _ you  _ doing?” he asks, unsteady. _

_ “This— _ creature  _ and I have unfinished business.” Aqua summons her Keyblade again, clenching her fingers until her knuckles turn white. She looks at Sora, gritting her teeth. “For everything you’ve done.” _

_ She swings at him again, and Riku lurches toward her. His Keyblade is in his hand again, and he meets her mid-strike, pushing back. _

_ “I beat you once,” he grits out. “I can do it again.” _

-

“Eventually we came to an agreement, and now we’re here,” Riku concludes.

Yen Sid has his eyes closed, and he nods once, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “It very well could be Vanitas,” he says, opening his eyes again to look at Aqua, “if you think he could be reacting to you.”

“It’s a possibility,” she says, but even that sounds sure.

He looks at Sora, expression set. “Whatever the reason, the darkness inside of you must be tamed and controlled, or at the very least contained. Riku, you seem to have some experience with this, yes?”

“I—” Riku cuts himself off suddenly, but Sora doesn’t look back to see the expression he’s making. “Yes.”

“For the time being, focus your attention on mentoring Sora. Just until we can find a more suitable long term solution.”

“Of course.”

Yen Sid sighs again, looking between the two of them. “You’re dismissed.”

Sora stands up without any preamble, more than ready to leave the room. Riku follows close behind him.

“Aqua, please stay so I may speak to you.”

Sora sees her nod out of the corner of his eye. “Yes, Master.”

He opens the door and flies down the stairs.

“Sora!” Riku calls.

The door closes softly, and Sora hurries when he hears Riku’s quick footsteps. He feels sick, head pounding, but so much has happened so suddenly that it could be anything. He wants to be back in his room, wants to lock the door and sleep until they all forget where he is. He wants to run away.

“Sora!”

Riku grabs his arm just as they hit the landing, and Sora swings around. “Why didn’t you say—”

“Let go of me,” Sora hisses, prying his fingers off his arm and striding back to his room. Looks at the open door and sees escape.

“Sora—”

_ Perfect, perfect Riku. Always there to save the day,  _ he thinks, nasty. Upset.

Riku follows him, footsteps heavy. Mad.  _ “Sora!” _

Sora steps inside and slams the door.


	9. To Dream

“Why do you wanna be miserable so badly?”

“I  _ don’t.” _

Roxas looks at him, patient and just a bit sad. “You do.”

Sora leans his ice cream against the side of the clock tower, watching it melt and fall, fall, fall to the ground. He clenches the popsicle stick in his hand. “No I don’t,” he says again, but it sounds weaker this time.  _ Who are you— _

“—trying to convince?” Roxas asks. Their thoughts overlap, only half his own. There are no secrets here. “Me? Or yourself?”

The ice cream is gone, but the popsicle stick is still in his hand, clean as a whistle. His fingers are sticky. Sora stares down at the ground, avoiding both Roxas’ eyes and the sunset, eternal. Beautiful. He doesn’t know when he became so mean, wonders if maybe it’s always been there and he’s just acted like it wasn’t. Acted happy.

“Maybe,” Roxas says. He’s staring at the sun, and the reflection in his eyes turns them gold. Sora starts to warn him, tell him he’s going to ruin his sight, but it’s just a memory.  _ Can’t break what you don’t have. _

Roxas smiles then, a little secretive, and although Sora knows what he’s going to say before he says it, he still listens intently. “I don’t know,” he says. The smile wavers, and Sora watches his lip quiver. “I broke a lot of things.”

They sit in silence. Sora ends up dropping the popsicle stick, watching it fall until he can’t see it anymore, but Roxas doesn’t say anything about it.

“Are you ha—”

“No,” Roxas says, cutting him off.  _ Don’t talk about things you don’t want to hear.  _ It’s only a little mean.

“Well,” Sora starts, “I was just wondering if maybe—”

“I’m not the reason you’re so unhappy.”

_ Stop cutting me off. No. _

Sora pulls his legs up from the edge and curls them against his chest, resting his chin on his knees. The quiet stretches out again, punctuated only by the clicking of the clock hands.

“Why do you wanna be so miserable, Sora?”

Sora pushes his face into his legs, squeezing his eyes shut. “Stop asking me that,” he whispers.

“You could’ve asked Kairi for help. You knew she knew, but you pretended she didn’t.”

“Stop.”

“Or Riku. He only ever wants what’s best for you. He’d burn the world to make sure you were safe and happy—so why would now be any different?”

_ No, he— _

“Yes he would. You just don’t wanna see it because twisting your self hatred around and pointing it at him paints a prettier picture.”

_ “Stop.” _

“You could’ve told Axel.”

Sora pulls himself tighter. He wishes he could squeeze himself until he popped out of existence, uses that as a way to force the tears back. “It’s Lea now,” he says, watery and defiant.  _ Stop. _

He doesn’t have to look at Roxas to see his smile, can feel it nestled in his chest like embers. Bitter but hanging onto the last threads of happiness. “He would let me,” he whispers.

“He—”

“—knew I was there,” Roxas says, and this time it’s not what Sora’s thinking at all.

“How do you know?” Sora asks. His voice is muffled, but the callousness filters through. Mean for the sake of it.

Roxas hums, unaffected. “Trust.”

Sora wants to cry but refuses to, grits his teeth against it. Won’t let himself be himself in the one place where he should always be able to.

“Sora—”

He chokes on his breath, struggling to breathe past the lump in his throat.  _ “Stop.” _

“—why do you wanna be so miserable?”

_ Because it’s the only way I know how to be. _

Roxas hums again. “That’s new.”

“Don’t make  _ fun of me.” _

Sora looks up at him, ready to glare, but the world is pitch black. He jolts, still feeling the edge of the clock tower at his toe tips, and reaches out for Roxas.  _ Don’t leave me here, don’t leave me in the dark— _

Roxas grabs his hand, tangling their fingers together with an easy surety. “Honesty is a good color on you,” he says.

_ Everything is black, there’s no color here. _

“Maybe you just don’t see what I see.”

If this is Roxas’ memory, he’s not doing a thing to change the sudden dark that’s been laid over them like a blanket. Sora squeezes his eyes shut, but there’s no difference.

“That’s your problem,” Roxas says. “You don’t wanna see anything.”

“There’s nothing to  _ see.” _

Roxas snorts. “Not with your eyes closed, there’s not.”

He hates this, hates this little game where Roxas says a hundred things with double meanings and he has to pick out the one that’s important. He’s terrible at it, doesn’t understand a single sentence.  _ You play along like you do. _

“Maybe they’re all important.”

“Why can’t you ever give me a straight answer.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

_ It could if you wanted it to. But I don’t, so deal with it. You just wanna watch me squirm. _

He feels Roxas’ smile. “Maybe.”

“Yes or  _ no—” _

_ “Yes,  _ alright?” Roxas laughs. “But I’m not giving you anymore answers.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re not my answers to tell.”

_ They’re mine to find out,  _ Sora thinks, and this time Roxas doesn’t respond.

He pauses, and Sora feels the hesitation like a physical pain. “You’re still not gonna do anything, are you?”

Sora can feel Roxas waiting for his response, and he wants to drag it out forever because balancing on a precipice is better than hurting him.

“No,” he says, quiet.  _ I’m scared. _

Roxas sighs, disappointment and anticipation feeding through their connection like a livewire.

“You should wake up soon.”

_ He wants me gone,  _ Sora thinks before he can squash the thought.

Roxas squeezes his fingers. “No I don’t.”

Sora feels consciousness tugging at his clothes, and he squeezes Roxas fingers back, not ready to let go.

“Is any of this even real?” he asks, when the pull gets too insistent to ignore.

Roxas faces him, and when Sora finally looks at him in the dark he sees Roxas’ eyes shining in awed gold, reflecting the sunset back at him.

“It’s as real as you want it to be.”

 

Sora wakes up slowly, prying the sleep from his muscles. His chest aches,  _ hurts,  _ and the sadness is cloying, a miasma in his lungs. He coughs once, twice, working the remnants of sobs from his throat.

_ You’re still not gonna do anything, are you? _

The memories are blurry in his head, they always are, but his heart latches onto that one sentence. He doesn’t know if it’s him or Roxas. Desperate to work toward a resolution, anything,  _ anything  _ to clear the pollution from his heart.  _ The darkness. _

_ I don’t know how,  _ he thinks, pushing the heels of his palm into his eyes. He wants to cry, but it’s been so long he doesn’t remember how.

Sora sits like that, curled up in his bed, hiding from the world under a thin layer of blankets. It’s still dark out—a trick, magic that covers the windows and reflects the time in phases of the moon.

He pulls his hands down under the blankets, glancing at his alarm clock. 3:48.  _ Why did he want me to wake up. _

Sora stares at the numbers, watching them blink, _ 3:49, 3:50, 3:51,  _ before he throws his blankets off. There’s a pair of slippers next to his night stand that he’s only used once or twice, and he throws them on now, cold. He slips into an old sweatshirt, and catches his reflection in the mirror.

It’s Riku’s, tattered and thin and grey, that he let Sora borrow at a sleepover. Years and years ago. It had made him so mad when Sora wouldn’t give it back, and that’s the only reason he kept it. It still doesn’t fit him.

He catches his fingers in the hem, pulling it back off, anger still coursing through his veins, but he stops. Realizes it’s not there anymore. Just a quiet, lonely sort of ache. He clenches his fingers in the fabric, wanting something he can’t put a name to.

Sora unlocks his door, peeking down the hall. It’s empty, as would be expected, and he tiptoes next door to Kairi’s room.

_ What am I doing?  _ he thinks, hand hovering by her door.  _ I can’t bother her. _

But even though he wants to go back to his room, let her be, he can’t. He can’t go back by himself.

He knocks.

The bedspread shifts, crinkles, and Sora knocks again, as quiet as he can be. There’s a soft click, and Sora sees light spilling under the door. The bed shifts again, and he hears footsteps.

Kairi opens the door, squinting at him, still groggy with sleep. Her expression crumples when she sees him. “Sora?” she asks, holding onto the doorknob. “Are you OK?”

He knows she knows about him stomping off yesterday. The three of them rarely hide anything from each other. If one of them can’t fix the problem, they just pass it on to the others. _ That’s her job now,  _ he thinks.  _ Fixing. _

“Yeah,” he whispers, even though what he means to say is  _ no, no, I’m not, I need help. _

She stares at him, waiting, but Sora doesn’t know what to say. “Do you wanna come in?”

He nods, just a little too quickly, and she moves out of the way, holding the door open for him. Sora slips inside, letting himself be swept by the smells. Sweet, sweet, sweet. The fairy lights strung around the ceiling add bigger stars, throwing the room and all its contents in warm shadows.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Kairi asks, shutting the door.

Sora sits on the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and letting his slippers fall off his feet. “No.”

For a moment he thinks she might question him, but he forgets sometimes—forgets Kairi knows him just as well as Riku. She helps him to stand back up and pushes him to one side of her bed without saying anything, flipping the blankets aside for him.

“Let’s go to sleep,” she says, walking to her side of the bed.

She lays down, shoving herself under the covers, and Sora hesitates before mirroring her. He curls his arms against his chest, watching Kairi watch him.

“I’m sorry—”

“You’re not,” she cuts him off, before he can finish. Her expression is hard, hard in a loving sort of way. “You’re not being a burden.”

He hates hearing the words out loud, like saying it is OK— _ I have to say it— _ but having other people know how he feels, hearing the words thrown back at him, isn’t. Sora rolls over, curling up with his back to Kairi. It’s easier that way.

There’s a long moment where nothing happens, and then Kairi flips the lamp off again. She scoots closer, pressing her chest flush to his back.

“It’s OK to be sad sometimes,” she says, as though it’s that simple. She wraps her arm around him, resting her forehead in between his shoulder blades. “We’re here no matter what.”

Sora bites his lip. He wants to say something,  _ please don't talk about it,  _ but the words don’t come. He covers her hand with his instead, and she folds their fingers together.

She doesn’t push the subject, and Sora is thankful.


	10. To Break Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Two quick things.
> 
> first and foremost: apologies for like. disappearing briefly. i went out with a friend for her birthday and then either 1.) came down with a flu bug or 2.) got punished by my body for not taking my medication. either way im feeling a bit under the weather
> 
> secondly: im hoping that this doesnt become an issue, but ill be moving back in to my dorm tomorrow and starting training for my new job. i really wanna keep up with my schedule, but things could get a bit sporadic soon
> 
> either way, hope you guys enjoy todays chapter!

He avoids Riku that day.

He knows he should be training or sparring or  _ something,  _ but as soon as he sees Riku outside working with Kairi, he decides to stay in for the rest of the day. Lea is downstairs somewhere, but he seems to be doing the same thing. Ignoring them, avoiding.

And, he thinks, he may have gone out to talk to them. May have spoken, apologized to Riku if Kairi was there to catch him when he fell. If it was just the two of them.

But it isn’t. Aqua is sitting outside on the staircase, watching from afar.

She’s too weak to participate, but Sora doesn’t doubt that she’s correcting both Kairi and Riku alike. It drives Sora up the wall—that she’s just shown up and is already acting like they’re  _ her  _ students. Her  _ children. _

He opens his window on the pretense of letting in fresh air and curls up on the window seat, laying his arm on the windowsill. There’s a light breeze way up here, and he wonders briefly if he’s just imagined that the weather is stagnant.

“—easier to do it with the Keyblade for now,” Riku says, and his voice travels high, high up to Sora’s room. It’s quiet, but loud enough that he can pick it out.

Riku summons a small flame to his palm and holds it out to Kairi. She stares at it, obviously entranced, and Riku, ever patient, lets her. He picks up her hand and places it against the bottom of his own.

“Do you feel that?”

She focuses and nods. “Yeah, it’s—really warm.”

“Fire is generally hot, Kairi.”

“Shut up!” she laughs, slapping his arm. “I know that, it’s just—” She trails off, shaking her head.

“I know what you mean,” Riku says, dispelling the magic. He lifts up Kairi’s Keyblade and turns her so she points it out into the openness over the edge of the island. “It’s different, with magic.”

“Yeah.”

He leans in close, speaking to her low and motioning with his hands. Sora assumes he’s trying to explain it better, tell her what to focus on and how to shoot it.

_ Axel could’ve done it better,  _ he thinks, resting his chin in his palm.

Kairi struggles for a few moments, but after some gentle encouragement from Riku she manages to shoot a weak ball of flame from the tip of her Keyblade. She jerks around to look at him, excited, and Riku smiles.

A simmering sort of anger rises inside him, and Sora turns his face away from the window. He had struggled for hours trying to figure out how to cast magic, even the simplest spells, and she turns around and does it in a few minutes.

_ I bet Riku was the same way,  _ he thinks.  _ Perfect, perfect— _

His phone vibrates. Sora looks around the room, trying to remember where he put it.  _ I never use it. _

He’s digging through the pile of dirty laundry on his floor when he hears it vibrate again, and he throws all his clothes aside, dropping to his knees. It’s half buried under his dirty pajama pants and shoved under his bed.

He clicks on the lockscreen, and sees it’s still hanging on at 38%. He doesn’t remember the last time he charged it, but it’s obviously been awhile.

**Riku** **ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ** **:**

_ We can see you, you know. _

_ Come down here with us. _

Sora huffs, locking the screen again and tossing it up on his bed.  _ I don’t care if you can see me, I don’t— _

He cuts the thought off, leaning his back against his bed and breathing out slowly through his mouth. There’s no reason for him to be so mad about it. Riku’s just trying to help him and Sora is spitting in his face.

_ But it so hard not to feel that way,  _ he thinks, dropping his face into his hands. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to go downstairs. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to see Riku. Not until he apologizes.

_ For what?  _ He’s exasperated with himself, not knowing why he’s feeling the way he is and not wanting to. He doesn’t want to feel anything anymore.

He sits there, on the floor tucked between his bed and the wall, for some time. Knowing he has to do something but not knowing what or how. It’s worse this way, being trapped and desperate to fix something he doesn’t understand, caught in his own sick little circle of emotions.

_ It’s the darkness inside me,  _ he thinks, and that just makes it all even more confusing. He doesn’t know how to deal with darkness, doesn’t know anything besides  _ it’s bad  _ and  _ I have to destroy it.  _ But how does he destroy it when it’s inside  _ him?  _ He can’t just start swinging his Keyblade at the mirror—

Sora sits up, staring at the wall, and the idea is an offering of hope.

_ The mirror. _

 

He hasn’t been upstairs since that last time, hasn’t dared treading inside.

It took a bit of planning and finesse, but he managed to avoid everyone the rest of the day—besides Lea. They bumped into each other in the dining room, but other than a quick greeting they didn’t speak.

Sora puts it from his mind, ignoring the memory’s insistent tug, begging him to look back on it.  _ He’s so sad. _

He sighs.  _ Later,  _ he thinks, in a bid to quiet it.

The mirror is covered again, and Sora stands in front of it, trying to shake the tremors from his body. He would never admit it to anybody else, but he’s scared. Just a little. A lot.

_ Like ripping off a bandaid. _

He tears the sheet off, breath caught in his chest.

The mirror is fixed, no cracks or breaks, and Sora wonders if it was ever broken in the first place. There’s another version of himself staring back at him, black from head to toe and jerking like it wants to move but can’t. Darkness billows off it it like smoke. It makes him nervous.

There’s something safe about just seeing this version of him, his real reflection. Safe, but not soothing. This is what’s inside him, his,  _ Sora’s  _ heart. Not whatever else resides in it.

_ I know you’re in there,  _ he thinks, staring into his own sun-gold eyes.  _ Come out. _

He doesn’t. Nothing does. He feels a little stupid, passing the time by staring at his own reflection.

_ I hate you,  _ he thinks. He doesn’t know who he’s talking to. The creature in the mirror, or himself? Aren’t they both the same?

Sora thinks it doesn’t matter if they are, because he hates himself just as much.  _ I hate a lot of things. _

He sighs, clenching his fists. It’s not fair, either. He shouldn’t hate this version of himself. Sora touches the mirror, staring at his anti form, and feels nothing but pity, sadness. It’s not  _ fair  _ that he’s hated.  _ You never hurt anyone. _

_ “Weak.” _

Sora starts at the voice, jerking his hand back and swinging around, but the room is empty. When he looks at the mirror again he sees the boy, the same boy from the other night, staring back at him with a sneer.

_ ‘They look...surprisingly similar.’ _

Sora had thought he was looking at himself.

“Vanitas,” he says, not without anger.

Vanitas says something, looking down his nose at him. Sora just shakes his head, confused,  _ I just heard him— _

Vanitas frowns, putting his hand on the mirror and pointing down at it.  _ ‘Idiot,’  _ he mouths.

Sora frowns, surprised at the attitude, and does as he’s told.

“You’re weak  _ and _ stupid,” Vanitas says, and that smile is back. “I guess they’ll let just about anyone become a Keyblade Master these days.”

Sora feels another trill of anger, but under that, laced with hurt, is sadness. Having his own shortcomings thrown back in his face by somebody that looks and sounds exactly like him. It comes a little too close to home.

“Oh, but wait,” Vanitas says, pressing his hands to the glass and leaning in as far as he can without touching it, “you’re  _ not _ a Keyblade Master, are you? You’re a failure.”

“No, I’m not,” Sora says, but it feels like a lie. “There’s always next time.”

“Did ‘Master’ tell you that? That it doesn’t matter that you failed, only that you’re trying again? Or was that your mom.”

He’s mad, hot and angry, and for a moment he considers breaking the glass. Destroying his corrupt reflection just so he doesn’t have to look at him, know that he’s inside him at every moment. Doesn’t have to wonder how long he’s been there.

Vanitas grins at him, but there’s no smile in his eyes. “Do it.”

“I will if you  _ don’t stop.” _

Vanitas laughs. “No you won’t.”

_ Yes, I will,  _ he thinks, but looking into Vanitas’ eyes he knows it’s not true.

“Goody two shoes son of a bitch,” Vanitas laughs, mean. “Afraid to break a mirror because you think it’ll hurt me? I’m in  _ there,”  _ he says, pointing at Sora’s chest. The emotion drains from his face in a heartbeat, leaving nothing but a wide-eyed, feral hunger. “Forever.”

Sora presses his hand to the mirror right over Vanitas’, pushing until the glass warps his reflection. A threat. Vanitas blinks, and for a moment Sora thinks he sees fear. “Why are you always where no one wants you.”

Vanitas stares at him, shocked, and the grin comes back with new fervor. “I’ve been here since the beginning,” he says. “But I woke up first, and you know why? Because of this face-stealing asshole.” He jabs his finger at Sora again, like he’s talking to a different person.

“This is my face!” he says, indignant. “You’re the thief here, bud!”

“‘Bud’? Are you five?”

“Well I’m not gonna call you an,” he trails off, tripping himself up. It doesn’t feel natural. Vanitas raises his eyebrows. “An asshole!”

“Wow,” Vanitas says, unimpressed. “It’s actually like watching a five year old. That was almost cute.”

Sora huffs. “Narcissist.” He feels a little proud of the comeback.

Vanitas glares. “It was my face first!”

“It was not!”

“Yes it  _ was!” _

“You were born without a face,” he says, angry enough to curl his lip. “Can you stop lying even for a few  _ seconds?” _

Vanitas flinches as though he was slapped. He looks open, vulnerable, for that short moment. Then he reels back, ramming his fists into the glass. The mirror shakes. “Why do you always act like you own  _ everything,” _ he snarls, afraid and pasting a faux anger over top. “You were  _ so desperate _ for me not to have my heart back that you  _ destroyed it. _ And now his is yours, too?

“You know why I woke up first?” he asks, fingers clawing at the glass. “Because it was  _ so dark in there  _ that  _ nothing _ could survive. Nothing but a  _ monster.” _

Sora squeezes his eyes shut, afraid and  _ angry, _ and slams his hands on the mirror. “Go  _ away!” _

He stays that way, half bent over, catching his breath. His eyes prickle with heat, and he blinks down at the ground, feeling the way the tears catch on his eyelashes.

The anger fades, and Sora slides to the ground, leaning his weight onto his hands and knees despite the way the stone makes his bones ache. His throat clenches, working around sobs he won’t voice.

The fear goes next, and Sora is left with nothing but the pain.

 

It’s doesn’t work, but Sora still uses it to his advantage.

He ignores all of Riku’s—and Kairi’s—text messages, and responds to Riku early the next morning.

_ ‘Where do you want to meet’ _

It’s entirely fueled by anger, but Sora’s not sure where it’s from. Directed at himself, maybe. He thinks it’s mostly directed at Vanitas.

_ He thinks he knows me  _ so _ well,  _ he thinks, stomping down the hallway to Riku’s room.  _ I’m not a monster. _

Or at least, he won’t be for much longer.

Sora knocks on Riku’s door, maybe a little too loud, but he doesn’t care. There’s no one upstairs to hear them, and if there was it would be Yen Sid.  _ The only thing he’d tell me about is that I’m not being a good student. _

“You’re so terrible at following directions, Sora,” he mutters in a terrible rendition of Yen Sid’s own voice. He huffs.

Riku opens his door and looks down at Sora. His expression is carefully neutral, and Sora thinks he sees some other emotion lingering beneath the mask. He doesn’t know what it is. Anger? Hesitancy? Confusion? Pity? Or all four in one.

Sora walks past him, throwing himself down on Riku’s bed and watching him. Riku raises his eyebrows, and then Sora sees nothing but irritation.

“Come in,” he says sarcastically. He shuts the door.

“Can we just do this?” Sora asks, watching him walk around the bed to sit in the window seat.

Riku stares at him as he sits down, as though completely thrown by Sora’s attitude.  _ There’s nothing wrong with it,  _ he thinks, and it feels right. Vindicating.  _ He deserves this. _

“You shouldn’t let your anger get so strong,” Riku says, lips drawn thin.

“Is that it for today?” Sora asks, hands on the bed. Preparing to stand up.

Riku shoots him a look, impatient and short, and Sora grits his teeth but stays sitting.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Riku stares at him a moment longer, and sighs. He gets up and moves closer, sitting on the floor in front of Sora. “I know what you’re feeling, but—”

“No you don’t,” Sora says immediately. He knows it’s true.

Riku shoots him another  _ ‘shut up I’m trying to help you’  _ look, and Sora tries. “OK,” Riku says, slow like he’s trying to convince himself to be patient, “maybe not  _ exactly  _ what you’re feeling, but I know a little.”

“Uh huh.”

“I know,” Riku starts, as though he hasn’t spoken at all, “that being that angry feels great in the moment.  _ Amazing,  _ even.”

Sora can feel himself hesitating, wary of him. It does feel great, it feels great  _ every time _ the anger rears up inside him. And letting it out is just as good, but—

_ “But, _ it really is only for ‘a moment’.” He looks up at Sora, and his fingers twitch like he wants to reach out. Small and quiet and barely allowing himself to feel it, Sora wishes he would. “Because after that?” he asks. “After it all goes away? It doesn’t feel so good anymore.”

Sora swallows, nervous, and Riku looks at him so open and honestly that it hurts.

“Because after that you’re just hurting people,” Riku says. He searches his face. “And I know that’s the last thing you wanna do.”

“I’m not  _ hurting anyone,”  _ Sora says, a gut reaction. He’s  _ not.  _ Just wanting to be alone and keeping his problems to himself isn’t doing anything bad. “I’m—I’m just—”

“You are,” Riku says, and his tone is hard, leaving no room for argument. Sora gets that tone a lot.

“How?” he asks. It’s a bit meaner than he means for it to be. “Slamming a door or two?”

Riku crosses his arms over his chest, and Sora wants to think he looks dumb down there, cross legged and staring up at Sora from the floor in his little pretzel shape. He doesn’t. He looks just as good as he always does. A little tired, maybe, but clean and well groomed and soft and hard and all kinds of other things all at once.

“Why did you slam the door, Sora.”

“You’re not my therapist,” he spits. “Stop acting like it.”

“Well God knows you need one!” Riku snaps, dropping the facade. He throws his hands up. “Why are you always like this?! How long have you been having these issues? You can’t keep—keep  _ internalizing _ this stuff!”

“I did it so that  _ this  _ wouldn’t happen!”

“What wouldn’t happen, Sora?! Everyone having to fight with you because you won’t talk to us?! That’s happening  _ because  _ of this!”

Sora clenches his fists on his legs. He feels trapped, but he can’t run away because it’s what he wanted. He thinks he came for the wrong reason—escaping a make believe enemy. Showing him he was wrong, that he  _ can _ come back from this.  _ I just wanted help. _ This doesn’t feel like help.

_ “Stop yelling at me!” _

“ _ What else am I supposed to do?!”  _ Riku’s hands are clenched too, eyes wide with an emotion Sora thinks he knows but doesn’t want to put a name to. “We try to help you at every turn but you don’t wanna hear it until one of us explodes!” 

He takes a slow breath, chest heaving like they’ve actually been fighting. “We’re your  _ friends, _ Sora,” he says, voice softening while still keeping the edge. “Me and Kairi. You can _ talk _ to us. That’s what we’re here for.”

He sighs, and Sora sees the tense line of his shoulders bend and break.

“What happened to your friends being your power?”

That makes him pause. It feels like a wrench in his anger, jammed right down inside and not stopping until it hurts. Sora digs his fingers into his knees, and clenches his jaw when he feels a lump rise in his throat.  _ Am I really hurting them? _

He feels like he’s constantly swinging from one mood to the next, carried on a wave he can’t stop. A raft in an ocean. He wants to throw up, doesn’t feel like himself.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asks, a bare breath of a whisper.

Riku’s expression changes immediately, and Sora knows it’s because of the lack of push-back. No more stubbornness and Riku changes his entire demeanor. Sora wonders which is the real him.

“Nothing,” he says, quick. Trying for reassuring and getting panic.

Sora huffs, rolling his eyes over to the window and trying to muster up some of that anger. It’s easier.

“OK, maybe a little,” Riku says, joking.

It jabs Sora, a knife in his gut that makes him all the more aware of just what’s happening. Aware but not understanding, not able to stop it, only be swept along by the current. He doesn’t even know how to stay afloat.

Riku reaches up for him, laying his hand over Sora’s and squeezing. It loosens the tightness a little, makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, he really isn’t alone.

“It’s not your fault,” Riku says. Sora knows it’s not true, but it feels good to believe. “Nobody could’ve anticipated this.”

And that, too, feels like a lie, because Sora thinks he’s known all along.


	11. To Push Boundaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is hella short :( still trying to figure out my work/class schedule, but i figured itd be better to drop something instead of nothing

They don’t talk much more after that, and Sora spends the next day roaming the tower in a haze.

He’s himself. He is. But he’s not, and he knows that. Knows that, but doesn’t. At least—he doesn’t know what to do about it.

So he doesn’t pay attention to himself, and focuses on everything else instead. Lea is still a ghost, avoiding everyone and then showing up for lessons before disappearing again. Sora wonders where he goes. He’s scared of what he gets up to.

Aqua, too, is someone Sora watches. His feelings about her are a mishmash—half hate and half love and all reverence. He has no idea how much of it is his own, and he doesn’t know how to find out. Is a bit worried he’ll glance away and lose himself the second they meet eyes again. Is worried she’ll gut him before he has the chance.

It creates a rift, tension, throughout the tower, and it’s his fault. Riku insists—through carefully worded texts, when Sora refuses to leave the  safety of stone walls—that it’s not. Or at least,  _ ‘It’s not that simple’. _

Which is just a fancy way of saying that it is.

Sora sighs, half-heartedly pushing open another door. He’s not sure what floor he’s on anymore, he just knows that he’s high, high up. Far higher than the bedrooms, than Yen Sid’s office, even. He must be reaching the top.

_ If this place even has a top,  _ he thinks, peeking his head out. He knows there is one. He’s seen it from the outside.

It’s a veranda, Sora sees, as he steps outside. It’s far higher than he had expected it to be, and when he walks to the edge and peeks over he’s stunned to see clouds.

_ Enchanted,  _ he thinks. He leans over, running his fingers through one until they come back damp.

“Wow,” he whispers, amazed. He stands like that, leaning over the edge, knees hooked under the railing and hands clamped on tight, just in case. Looking down even though he can’t see. Alone.

It could be a space for just him. Riku doesn’t really explore, and Kairi is too much of a stickler to. He doubts anyone would find him up here.

Sora sinks to a squat, peeking out from between the railing. “Just me,” he whispers. A secret. It makes it special, somehow.

_ Maybe,  _ he thinks, squeezing the balustrade between his fingers,  _ that’s because it’s never just me anymore. _

 

“Do you not wanna do training anymore?” Riku asks.

Sora blinks, jerking. Just a little. “What?” he asks, squinting to get the sleep out of his eyes. His heart is pounding from the start.

Riku raises his eyebrows, nudging his rice into a pile. Sora watches him pick up the last slice of his cutlet. “Do you not wanna train anymore?” he repeats, patient.

Sora watches him eat, lips working around it. He slips his chopsticks out of his mouth and Sora looks away, sighing. “I have to,” he says.

“Not right now.”

“I should be.”

“Master Yen Sid would understand if you weren’t.”

_ He probably doesn’t want me to be,  _ Sora thinks, and this time he’s almost certain the thought is his own.

Sora lets the silence drag out, ignoring the way Riku’s eyes prod at his skin. Questioning, curious, but never pushing. Not anymore. He almost wishes he would.  _ Help me. _

He sighs again, sliding his cheek into his palm and staring out the window. There’s nothing to see but sky, sky, sky for miles. Light years.

Sora thinks about a hundred different things at any one time in the day, but more than anything he things about Destiny Islands. The beaches, the sunsets, the sun rises. Sand that gets everywhere and rain that’s either a drizzle or a storm. He wonders about his friends, his family. He wonders about his mom.

_ I want to go home. _

A draft blows through the doorway, and when Sora breathes in he catches the smell of his fish fry. It’s a comfort food—the only reason he had gotten it. It only serves to make him miss his mother even more, if possible, and Sora swallows. He feels nauseous.

He pushes the plate away from him, just a bit, and Riku lays his chopsticks against his empty plate. It cleans itself, and when he moves it out of the way it fades out of sight until it looks like it was never there in the first place.

“You should eat,” Riku says.

“I’m not hungry.” It sounds childish, and he doesn’t try to pretend otherwise.

Riku stares at him for another beat. He nudges Sora’s leg under the table, careful, just enough to get his attention. “You look exhausted.”

He is. After a few days of struggling to find rest, Sora’s found that it’s easier to find himself when he has to search through the fog of sleep while everyone else gets caught. It puts a damper on a lot of things, but Sora would rather be a little moody than be someone entirely different.

Riku nudges his calf with his toe, dragging it down Sora’s leg and not stopping until he hits his sock. It feels just a little intimate—the two of them across from each other at the table in the dining room. Alone.

Riku raises his eyebrows, waiting, and Sora turns his face into his hand, smothering his smile in his palm. He snorts and tries to muffle the sound.  _ Is he looking to start a fight? _

“You wanna give me a shower, too?” Sora asks, teasing.

Riku hesitates, just enough, just that one beat too long, and Sora’s lips thin even though he tries to keep his face neutral. It’s fair of him to be cautious—Sora is a snakepit at the best of times. But it still hurts. He wishes they didn’t have to walk on eggshells.

“I—”

“Not if I have to stay outside,” Riku says, a quick recovery.

Sora stares at him, thrown at the sudden change in attitude. And then—

_ Huh? _

He blinks, blank, and Riku stares back at him. Sora sees a muscle work in the side of his jaw, and furrows his eyebrows, looking for something to give away the joke, the punchline. He cocks his head.

“What?”

“You were teasing right?” Riku asks. He gestures at Sora.  _ ‘Back atcha’. _

“Oh.” Sora nods, pushing his fish fry around his plate. It smells a little more palatable now. “‘M tired,” he mumbles, trying to save himself.

“I can tell.”

Sora ducks his head down to his plate, but when he glances up at Riku from between his bangs he swears he catches a blush.


	12. To Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realize we're all gearing up for the pain of kh3 in literally 2 days but i figured id kill everyone tonight instead

The days pass, and Sora sees less of Kairi and more of Riku. Less of Lea, less than before, and more of Riku. Less than everyone else. And more of Riku.

It feels familiar in an odd, vague, untouchable sort of way. Like they’re playing with Sora’s memories, feelings. Piecing together what’s his and what isn’t, sifting through things that are fake and real at the same time.  _ They’re not mine, but they’re real. They’re real feelings. _

It’s awful.

He feels like a caged animal, being poked and prodded but not allowed to retaliate because  _ it’s wrong  _ because  _ don’t be mean, Sora.  _ So he shoves it down—further down than before—and pretends it’s not there.

Even when it  _ is. _

“You have to keep that side of you in check,” Riku says, stoic.

Sora grits his teeth, breathing against the flash of anger that presses against the back of his consciousness like a physical presence. He almost gives in, almost lets it take over. Just for the relief of it.

He breathes again, blinks, squeezes his hands, and stares hard at the ground until it fades.

The sleep trick had worked, it  _ had,  _ but only for so long. Sora’s passed the point where it’s worked and now it’s turned against him. His body is caving under the pressure, and while it’s taken most of the other presences with it, one of them refuses to give in.

It stresses him, makes him paranoid. Every time he turns around and catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the bathroom mirror or the occasional window he swears,  _ swears  _ it’s not him—that it’s black hair, gold eyes looking back at him. He’s afraid he’s going to breathe once, just a little too deeply, and give in to the lull of sleep.

“OK,” Sora says, because  _ ‘I know’  _ sounds a little too much like giving in and being too stubborn all at once.

Riku looks at him, purses his lips. Sighs. “You’re still not sleeping.”

_ No shit,  _ he thinks.  _ Good to know you’re not stupid  _ and  _ blind you— _

Sora grits his teeth, feeling his chest seize up against the onslaught of hatred.  _ Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up— _

“We should probably stop there for today,” Riku says, standing from the window seat. He sets his hands on his hips and sighs again, holding Sora’s eye. “No training?”

Sora pauses, staring at him. He rolls his lips. “No,” he says, quiet.

“Why not?”

It’s a genuine question, not pushing, but Sora’s automatically on guard. He doesn’t know what to say—no, that’s not right. He does, he just doesn’t want to. Because  _ ‘I’m scared’  _ doesn’t quite suffice.

He looks at Riku, imagines sparring, imagines a Keyblade in his hand, fighting, swinging until it’s no longer training and is an actual fight, hitting, hitting, hitting until he bleeds— 

Sora looks at the window, swallowing, terrified. He doesn’t want it.  _ Don’t lie. _

“I can’t,” he says.

Riku looks a him a moment longer, and then nods. He steps closer and lays a hand on Sora’s shoulder, squeezing light, gentle. “This isn’t forever,” he says, soft.

It shouldn’t feel nice, shouldn’t sound that way either, but somehow it does. His hand is warm, warm, warm and delightfully big on his shoulder. His thumb dips down to rest over Sora’s collarbone, and Sora briefly wishes it was touching his skin.

“I know,” he whispers, afraid to say it any louder. Afraid that if he speaks up the world will jinx him out of spite.

“You’ll make it through this, Sora,” Riku says, one last consolation. He smooths his hand over Sora’s back and steps away, and Sora sighs at the loss of contact.

They split up, and somehow it feels reluctant. Sora doesn’t understand why. Maybe Riku doesn’t want to go train, or maybe Sora is projecting too much.

He gets halfway back to his room before he realizes he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with the rest of his day. He has nothing planned, can barely function the way his mind is fighting against itself.

_ It would be so much easier to give in,  _ he thinks, a split second of weakness. He leans against the threshold of his door, staring at his bed. His knees wobble, and he locks them, feeling weak.  _ I want to sleep. _

He stays like that. Hesitating. Afraid. Wanting something so badly but not allowing himself to have it.  _ What if I close my eyes and I can’t open them again? _

“Sora?”

Sora jumps, swinging around. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it’s certainly not Axel, not after days of absence.

Sora stares at him, unsure of how to act, what to say, but he thinks that’s OK. He’s glad. Out of everyone that could’ve come, he’s glad it’s him.

“Axel,” he says, quiet. It’s unsure, a start to a sentence he doesn’t know how to finish. He wants something untouchable.

Axel flinches, barely there, but Sora catches it. He furrows his eyebrows, taking a step forward and angling his shoulders in to be closer. “Are you OK?” he asks, and it’s soft. So soft. Too soft.

It reminds Sora of a different time, a different ache. Running and hiding and poor bandages in the form of cheap popsicles and trying to heal a hurt but not knowing how. Axel trying to mend a wound and make a salve at the same time.

Sora wants to cry.

His eyes prick with heat, fingers twitching, wanting to reach out. “You—you can fix this, can’t you?”

“Can—what?” Axel blinks, but Sora can see the gears turning, can see the emotions flickering one after another behind his eyes. Hope, worry, hurt, panic.

Sora shifts forward, can feel the desperation flowing through him. He feels like he’s slipping, doesn’t quite understand it. “You can—you—” Sora swallows, struggling to speak around the lump in his throat.

Axel reaches out, squeezing his shoulders, and Sora feels pinned down by the endless patience and impatience in his gaze. It’s comforting, somehow.

“Roxas,” Axel says, even. Barely. Playing at control. “Tell me what you need.”

“I—” Roxas says, choking on the word. His vision swims.

“I wanna go home,” he whispers.

Pain shoots up his spine, up his neck, and Roxas keels over, holding his head. His vision jumps in and out, and he hears something, a noise— _ is that me?  _ It sounds like yelling, crying out. He doesn’t know.

_ Move. _

Hands grab at him, tearing, rending flesh, and Roxas curls into himself, screaming. Grabbing for something, an enemy that doesn’t exist. It feels like his skull is splitting in two.

_ Not even gonna put up a fight? You may look like him, but you’re  _ weak.

The world is spinning, a fight, a battle Roxas doesn’t know how to win, doesn’t understand how he even became a part of. There is nothing, just black, black, black—darkness and hatred and cold and mean, clawing hands and Roxas is screaming because it  _ hurts. _

_ Mine, mine, mine. _

_ Take it,  _ Roxas thinks, giving in. Not caring what happens. Just wanting it to  _ stop. Take it, please, take it, take it— _

_ Stop! _

His chest is caving in, cracking under the pressure, the weight. He can’t breathe.

_ Stop, you’re killing him! _

Roxas stands in the middle of his Station— _ their  _ Station. He looks down at the stained glass, messy and marred with black and cluttered with too many hearts in one, and watches it crack.

_ Good. It’s getting a little crowded in here. _

It cracks. Cracks. Right over his chest, reaching up his neck.

_ Stop—! _

The crack runs to Roxas’ jaw, and he watches the first shard slip into oblivion.

It stops suddenly, suspended in the air, and the weight, the pain in Roxas’ chest eases. Just for a moment.

And then a different weight. Anger. Hot, livid, incandescent  _ rage. _

Hands claw at him again, pulling, but they’re different. Rough in a way that belies quick protection. Wrapping around him. Holding together what’s left.  _ I’m falling apart. _

_ I won’t let you. _

The mix of anger, fear, swirls in him, coming from a hundred different directions. Roxas feels worry, a speck, and thinks it’s Sora. Washed away by the tide. Lost in the heaviness of it all. He’s losing himself, too. Too much.

_ No, no, no, why are you always—! _

_ Vanitas! _

 

Sora jerks awake, gasping. His chest heaves, struggling to get air, and he makes a thin noise at the sudden pain. He feels like he’s been punched in the chest, run over. He feels like he’s going to pass out again as soon as he’s woken up.

The room is dark, dark, dark—well into the night, and Sora blinks up at the ceiling, counting the imitation constellations. He doesn’t remember how he got here. No. He does.

_ Roxas. _

He feels cold, numb as the memories rush back to him. They’re fuzzy, blurred and confusing. Roxas’ memories filtered through his heart.

Sora touches his chest. He sifts, parsing through their hearts, the consciousness he only now knows to look for.

_ Roxas,  _ he thinks, calling out to him. It resonates, reaching, reaching, reaching—

Sora feels it hit a wall, and then drop.

He freezes, not knowing how to react, how to think. What to do. He’s there, he has to be, it’s been too long for him to suddenly be  _ gone— _

But there’s no response. Just a broken, cracked mind Sora is too afraid to touch.  _ Don’t break him. _

_ He,  _ he thinks, unable to form the sentence. His thoughts are a mishmash, a hundred different words trying to string together at once into something that makes sense.

But when it does, he can’t bring himself to believe it.

Sora sits up, slow, when his head pounds. His stomach lurches, and he breathes to calm it, feeling weak, weak, weak.

_ Take it easy,  _ he thinks, but only half of the thought comes from him. When he reaches out within himself he gets a small ping in return, a burst of warmth like a firefly light—there and gone again but just enough for him to catch it.

_ Ventus. _

He doesn’t know the name besides offhanded mentions, but it feels right. He’s sure it is.  _ Ventus. _

It feels desperate, the way he reaches out toward him again,  _ please, I know you’re there, I can’t find him, please— _

He feels the weakness. The second flash, the reaction, is a barely there kind of thing. Sora breathes in and out once, waits until his thoughts clear and his heartbeat evens out. It feels like Ventus is reaching through him, taking control in the least invasive way possible to calm him, to help him. Sora suddenly wants to cry.

_ It’s gonna be OK. _

_ No, no it’s—he’s— _

The thought fades, a sewn thread pulled out until Sora is only holding the needle.

_ It’s gonna be OK. _

And then Sora is alone.

He’s tempted to reach out for Ventus again just to make sure he’s there, but Sora feels the strain. Doesn’t understand it, but knows it’s there simply for the palpable surety of it. It’s just him.

His chest gives a lurch, just a twinge of pain, but it drives all the worry from Sora’s mind.

_ Vanitas. _

He throws his blankets off, getting to his feet and ignoring the way his head spins.

No one is awake, but he doesn’t know much past the fact that it’s late, dark. Late night or early morning. He’s been asleep for a couple of hours or some unknowable amount of time.

His chest twinges again and Sora hisses, leaning against the wall of the stairwell, heavy. His knees wobble, ready to give out at a moments notice, and Sora thinks he can guess how much rest he really got.

He’s almost crawling by the time he gets to Yen Sid’s study, and he pushes his way inside, leaning against the doorframe and closing and locking the door. Just in case. It’s not a barrier to anyone in the building, but they’ll have to work to get inside.

Sora throws open the door to the side room and casts a haphazard, too strong firaga at the tiered candle on the table. It takes out half of them and makes the wicks spit and spark before calming.

He storms to the mirror and rips the sheet off.

Vanitas is already there. He’s curled up on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees, and he winces when the sheet is removed.

He looks pallid, sunken. Bags like bruises under his eyes. Sora almost feels bad for him. Almost.

Vanitas looks up at him and grins. “You look happy.”

Sora presses his hands to the edges of the mirror like he can block him in, doesn’t realize he doesn’t need to be touching it to hear Vanitas until it’s an afterthought. Doesn’t know what that means. Doesn’t care.  _ “How could you.” _

“Narrowing the competition.”

The rush of anger is suffocating, and Sora squeezes the mirror until he feels it start to bend under his hands. “He’s  _ a—” _

“—goner,” Vanitas finishes.

He angles his body up against the edge of the mirror, like he’s enjoying himself so much he can barely hold it in. “He’s still there, though. That’s what you wanna hear, right?”

Sora hesitates, remembering Ventus’ earlier comfort, but he’s not fast enough to stop it before it feeds into his heart. Vanitas huffs, a little breath of a laugh. “He thinks you can heal his heart like you healed  _ his. _

“But I won’t let you,” he whispers, and Sora really starts to hear it—the bone deep exhaustion. Sora looks at him and sees the stubbornness, the willingness to go to the ends of the worlds to see everyone else topple down around him. “I’m gonna make sure he dies in there, and then  _ you’re  _ gonna go next, and I’m gonna wait till I can get my hands on Ventus so I can kill him with my  _ bare hands. _

“But before that,” Vanitas says, angling forward and looking up at Sora like he’s something special—a painting in a museum. An animal in a zoo, “I get to watch you suffer without your other.” 

“And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you,” Sora says, soft, soft in the quiet.

Vanitas blinks, unsure, thrown. He glares to cover the crack. “What are you—”

“You think I don’t know,” Sora repeats. “But I do.”

He holds Vanitas’ eye, and then touches his chest. “‘You’re in _here’,”_ he mocks, feeling the meanness, the bite, like a caress.

Vanitas’ skin goes white, white, white, and Sora leans over him just a bit, tilting the mirror back. “You think it’s so fun hurting everyone around you to get what you want, but you don’t realize you’re just making a mirror you have to look at for the rest of your life.”

Sora lets go of the mirror, watching it tilt back into place. Vanitas is staring at him, expression conflicted, mask discarded. Sora doesn’t know what he sees there. He summons his Keyblade.  _ I don’t care. _

“Roxas isn’t gone,” he says. “Not yet.”

Fear. He sees fear in Vanitas’ eyes.

“But you will be.”

Sora swings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all enjoyed the chapter!! once again my twitter is naiesu_s and my tumblr is naiesu
> 
> also!!! after a comment Peadles left on the last chapter, if you guys can think of any songs this fic reminds you of, please let me know!! i have a playlist for this fic and i love getting new music. If you're curious enough to go looking and would like to listen to that playlist, you can find it on Spotify under "The Safest Place" by nyeth77. I hate not being able to link things for yall but AO3 will no longer allow me to do so


	13. To Pretend

“Are you OK?” Riku asks.

It’s late in the evening, but Sora has no desire to leave his room again. He still feels weak, but with the weakness has come a lethargic, sick feeling. He remembers being young, suffering from the flu for the first time. It feels a lot like that.

He curls up into himself a little more, shifting until the blanket covers his eyes. It doesn’t matter. Riku left the light off. “Please leave me alone,” he whispers.

Riku sighs, a quiet thing, and Sora hears the door shut softly. His feet pad across the floor before the bed dips. “You collapsed, Sora,” he says, like that’s all the explanation he needs. It probably is.

“I’m aware.” He remembers that much.

Riku gives him a second, and then pulls the blanket away from his face. Sora sighs, peeking back at him, and Riku leans over him. “What happened?” he asks. Soft. It makes Sora’s chest ache—the worry.

Sora looks at him and wants to lie, ease his fears, but he can’t, he  _ can’t.  _ “I don’t know,” he whispers. It hurts to say.  _ I wish I did. I don’t know why Vanitas did it, I don’t know what happened to Roxas, I don’t know why I collapsed, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know— _

Riku makes a face—if Sora can call it that. The barest twitch of his lips around the edges. Sora furrows his eyebrows. “Do you?”

“Lea was vague when he told us what happened,” Riku says. He folds his arms over his chest, and Sora sees the displeasure there. “So, no, I guess I don’t.”

Which translates to  _ ‘I could if  _ somebody  _ would tell me’.  _ Sora watches him glare at the mess on the floor, and revels in the lull in their conversation. In their circumstances. In everything. Hates that Roxas had to be sacrificed for Sora to get it.

_ He’d burn the world to make sure you were safe and happy.  _ Sora wonders what that means in its entirety.

He looks at Riku and doesn’t know what he sees. Looks at Riku, perfect,  _ perfect Riku, with his stupid teal eyes and pretty skin and his dumb  _ arms  _ and— _

Sora pinches the bridge of his nose, jamming his first finger and thumb into his eyes.  _ What’s wrong with me. _

“Have you eaten today?” Riku asks.

Sora sighs, dropping his hand, and Riku sighs, too. “Sora—”

“I’m not hungry, Riku,” he says. It comes out a bit meaner than he intends.

Riku purses his lips, and nods, looking away. “Is there anything I can get you?”

Sora squeezes his eyes shut, fingers tensing around his blanket.  _ Get out,  _ he thinks. He’s surprised to find the thought is entirely his own. A sudden loneliness falls over him.  _ It’s just me in here. _

_ That’s a good thing,  _ he thinks. Vanitas is unresponsive in the back of his mind.  _ It’s a good thing. _

“No,” Sora says, quiet. “I’m fine.”

There’s a long pause, and he knows Riku is gauging his every move and word, but he lets it go.

“Alright,” Riku says. He lays a hand on Sora’s shoulder and squeezes, and Sora looks up at him. “Just let me know.”

Warmth steals over his skin, working its way into his muscles until it hits bone, and Sora can’t help but relax. He sighs, unexpected.

“Sneak,” he says, smiling.

“Just checking.” Riku smiles back, shrugging.

Sora rolls his eyes, and Riku huffs a quiet laugh, shifting to stand up.

“Wait,” Sora says. He reaches out to snag Riku’s sleeve.

Riku stops, looking at him, and Sora clams up. He’s wants to say something, but the longer he stares the more his thoughts become unreachable.

“Stay,” he says, quick. Riku raises his eyebrows, and Sora swallows. “Just a little longer.”

“OK,” Riku says. He lays his hand over Sora’s, and Sora relaxes again.

He looks at Riku and sees an end.

 

They talk about him. He’s sure of it.

Collapsing in the hallway was bad enough, but he sees the way they look at him—wary and watchful—and knows they know about the mirror he’s broken. Riku and Kairi try to play at normalcy, but their hesitation is obvious. Everyone treads on eggshells.

 It’s stressful, and not just for them. Sora feels like they’re watching him, waiting for the next time he explodes just so they can be there to learn what’s wrong with him. To watch.  _ I need to be fixed. _

So he hides. As soon as he feels good enough to leave his room again he gets food and treks up to the veranda he’s found. It’s his—he likes to think it is, anyway. He doesn’t get the impression people often find their way up past Yen Sid’s office.

Sora looks between the bars of the railing, leaning against them and rolling an orange in his hands. It’s much colder up here than in his room, and he laments the constant night. The stars are beautiful, twinkling and streaking across the sky, but somehow it’s lonelier that way. Everything is so far away, so out of reach.

He tries to enjoy it anyway, but the longer he stares at the sky the more he remembers all those years ago, fresh on his first journey. Remembers watching his world be swallowed by the darkness because Riku had found an answer lying across a chasm but decided to stare to the bottom instead.

Sora wants to be 14 again, misses falling asleep on the beach and fighting over who had to row to the island. When the hardest thing in life was mustering up the energy to do his homework on time.

The work never ends anymore. He feels like he’s running on a clock, constantly trying to stay ahead of the hands but always, always, always feeling them clipping his heels. Knows every time he wakes up could be the last.

Not even now, when he should be safe surrounded by Yen Sid’s magic, does he find a sense of comfort. It’s nothing but responsibility staring him back in the face, forcing him to jump through hoops and then spitting on him for not being as good as  _ perfect, perfect Riku. _ For not being a Master.

He waits for the sound of Vanitas’ snide voice, waits to hear it hiss in his ear, but it never comes. Ventus isn’t there either, and he knows,  _ knows _ not to reach any further for him, but it’s so difficult not to. Difficult to try not to fill the empty space.

Sora lays the orange next to his leg and wraps his arms around himself in a broken sort of hug. He looks down at the clouds and wishes, more than anything, that he could still fly.

 

He goes back.

To the room, that is. It’s helped him more than once in the past, so there’s no reason it shouldn’t hold the answer now. At least, that’s what he’s convinced himself of.

As soon as he gets inside he tosses an extra sheet over the mirror he’s dubbed as Vanitas’, not giving much thought as to how it got covered in the first place. After breaking it the other day he hadn’t cleaned up at all—had instead slammed the door and gone back to his room.  _ Someone comes in here after me. _

It doesn’t matter. They can clean all they want, fix the mirrors a hundred times. Sora will find some way to get rid of them.

He has five other options. He’s looked at all of them before, knows they reflect different possibilities, different paths, that rest in his heart. Knows they’re meant for helping him understand Drive Forms. Knows they can do more.

He pulls the sheet off the first mirror he sees, staring at himself and waiting. His clothes shift, the colors change, and he’s looking at Valor Form. He turns, just a little, curious, and then stares. The seconds tick by, slow, slow, slow, but nothing happens.

Sora sighs, tossing the sheet back in place. He walks across the room and stops in front of the biggest mirror, looking up to the top to try and figure out the best course of action to get the sheet off. It’s far taller than him, likely over twice his height, and he’s genuinely terrified of knocking it over.  _ I’ve broken bigger things,  _ he thinks. It doesn’t help.

He pushes the sheet aside, peering at his reflection. It wavers, changing his clothes, but when Sora looks up into his eyes he swears it’s not his own face he’s looking at. He blinks, squinting at himself like he’ll find the answers in his own expression if he thinks them loud enough.

The shape of his face shifts, maybe a trick of the light, and an uncomfortable pit forms in his chest.  _ I’m sad,  _ he thinks, looking until his head starts to ache from the strain of it.  _ Why am I sad. _

He moves away from the mirror and the sheet swallows his reflection again.

There’s something off-putting about the air in the room, the quiet, the flicker of candle light. He doesn’t know what to think of it—whether there’s something wrong or if he’s just projecting.  _ Does that mean there  _ is  _ something wrong? _

The longer Sora thinks on it the worse he feels, so he picks another mirror. It’s half hidden behind a bookcase, unassuming where it’s pressed up against the wall, and Sora is immediately drawn toward it.

He pushes the sheet out of the way and watches his reflection bend and change. It’s the same as before, the same color difference, and Sora sighs.  _ Six mirrors in the room and only one of them does something. _

Maybe they’re just too quiet in his heart, or the mirrors aren’t nearly strong enough.  _ Maybe there’s just so much darkness— _

_ “Stop,”  _ he whispers, like the words are more real when they’re out in the open.

He leans his forehead against the mirror, trying to gather his thoughts where they’re spiralling away from him. Is it really his darkness? Or Vanitas’? Or  _ all _ of them? What if it’s all just bleeding together and Sora is the one who has to deal with it?

_ Scared,  _ he thinks, less of a word and more of a feeling. He doesn’t know where it comes from.

Sora sighs, just a little hopeless. Ventus had said everything was OK, but that’s the last thing Sora’s thinking. He wishes he were here right now, wants that comforting presence back, but Sora is alone. Like always.

He sighs again, stepping away from the mirror, and almost jumps out of his skin when he sees Roxas staring back at him.

“Roxas,” he breathes. The happiness is suffocating, and he lays his hand on the surface of the mirror, watching Roxas copy the motion. “You’re OK!”

Roxas doesn’t respond—only stares back at Sora, a perfect reflection. Sora steps back, lifting his hand from the mirror. His reflection ripples like water, and Roxas disappears, leaving Sora looking at himself. He touches the mirror again and he’s back.

“Hey,” Sora says, soft. Nervous and trying to be hopeful but feeling it slip between his fingers the more he grabs for it. “Say something.”

But it’s just him. Roxas moves when he does, lips moving to his words. That’s the funny thing about masks, he thinks—they only change what’s on the outside but never what they’re actually covering.

“Please,” he whispers. The look on his face is painful, ugly, and he drops his gaze to his shoes, eyes burning.

_ It’s gonna be OK. _


End file.
